Bound for the Forest

by Kay Berrisford

  Her words petered off into nothing. Brien clamped his jaw tight and felt the heat within him rise.

  No, it didn’t matter one jot. It didn’t matter if Holgaerst was real, or if Scarlet was a man or a woodland pixie, or if he, Melmoth Brien, was a traitor or a hero. Not one of those things changed how Scarlet made him feel.

  And now the unease in his heart, the whispers in his soul that had dogged him for hours, finally became clear to him. Scarlet was in danger, in pain—very much the wrong sort of pain—and he needed him. Whoever Melmoth Brien was—and after years of dissipation and wandering, Brien scarcely knew himself—Scarlet needed him.

  He looked into Urhelda’s brown eyes. “We’ve got to find Scarlet as quickly as we can, we…”

  And then he heard it again, a plea on a still wind, Scarlet calling to him. The fear in the cry was terrifying; for a moment, some part of him wanted to block his ears to it and turn away, riding as far as he could into the night, and then drink until he forgot his own name.

  But he was no longer a man who wanted to survive alone. He took a step forward, reaching out, hollering, “Scarlet!” Brien searched the view in front, desperation drenching his soul.

  Then the foul magic imparted its first true body blow.

  The forest swirled around him, dragging him down as if sucking out his soul from within. He saw Urhelda’s features contort in shock, and then the earth consumed him.

  * * *

  The disembodied voice of the Lord of the Hazel lashed through Scarlet’s consciousness. “You will take them all, little Scarlet, down your throat and up your pretty arse, and then, when your blood is shed in the realm above, I will claim you as my own. But first, you will take this and become the forest’s willing whore.”

  One of the Wild Men dangled the next object of his torment in front of his nose: a sprig of hazel leaves that spread from a large, bulbous plug that then tapered almost to a point.

  “No,” murmured Scarlet, as the Wild Men pulled him away from the tree and forced him onto his hands and knees on the earth. Cold air licked at his upturned arse, and he reminded himself that this part of the ritual was a mercy, given what was no doubt to come. The small end of the plug pressed at his unprotected entrance, and one of the Wild Men pushed it in.

  Humiliation surged through him, compounding his pain and terror. He was well aware of the customs of the Greenwood, but this felt very different. He let out a sharp cry, unable to relax and ease the object’s entry, although the wood was very slippery. His hands sinking into the swampy soil, he bit into his lip, trying to steady himself. If he let his elbows buckle this time, he’d impale himself further and the degradation would be unbearable. Even with his eyes closed, he could sense the Wild Men’s gazes boring into him. Nothing could shut out the Lord of the Hazel’s taunts.

  “You have taken the wood of Holgaerst willingly. Now you will take the wood of Niogaerst, whore, and you will beg for more!”

  The plug drove deeper, and Scarlet’s senses reeled. He could scarcely feel his nipples. The smooth hazel fucked him, driving in and out so forcefully that his entire body jolted back and forth with the blows. The collar felt too tight, although Scarlet could just find the leverage to breathe, but the greatest struggle was keeping Brien from his thoughts. If he could stop himself from crying out to him again, there might just be hope.

  As one of the Wild Men tormented his tight passage with the hazel, the rest of the pack heaved around him, the furnacelike blast of their body heat setting his cold skin crawling with sweat. Opening his eyes just for a moment, he shuddered. They leered over him with toothy mouths and lust-filled eyes, and Scarlet told himself they were evil incarnate, too grotesque for any being to covet, and yet…

  Oh, Goddess! All that struggling for the sake of Brien, and his body was reiterating the treachery upon itself. The hazel must have been doused in some kind of aphrodisiac; as the rough wood plowed into him, it stirred an inkling of agonized pleasure. He felt his prick twinge, and with the rushing of his blood came a further torrent of humiliation. What kind of depraved being would become aroused while splayed near naked in front of these beasts? And what decent man would want anything to do with him? If Brien saw him like this…oh, Goddess! His captain would loathe him.

  “Forget the turncoat, Scarlet. Imagine how my servants’ cocks will feel inside of you. Why fear Niogaerst, when we may bring you the pain and pleasure you seek?”

  The words pounded through him, a twisted echo of his inner thoughts. He closed his eyes and strove against the build of tingling excitement in his cock and his arse, but the magic was powerful. Could the Wild Men really bring him all that Brien could? Or was this the true culmination of Old Brigit’s warnings? She always said he was a bad ’un!

  Well, she was wrong.

  “No! Your monsters bring me nothing I want. Get away from me!” Scarlet screamed away his glimmer of enchanted arousal, even as one of the Wild Men rammed the hazel sprig in to its limit. Then the pack closed in, a swirl of hard flesh, wiry hair, and thick cocks, all caught in a terrible process of transformation. Before, the Wild Men had bristled with living foliage, but now their leaves withered into thorns. Gnarled faces paled and cracked with calluses, and their yellow fangs rotted to black. The air clouded with the breath of decay, sulfurous and reeking, worse than bad eggs. The stench caught in the back of Scarlet’s throat, seizing his stomach with revulsion as well as fright. He felt sick.

  “If you deny me, you will suffer more. My servants will drain your blood before we claim you.”

  A Wild Man of blasted birch lashed his talons across Scarlet’s back, shredding the skin. He gasped and struggled to crawl away, but a creature of dead ash caught him under his shoulders and swung him into the air, holding him so his toes dangled inches above the ground. Gaping hollows made up this Wild Man’s eyes, his mouth filled with black fangs. Flailing desperately, Scarlet struck the pale bark visage. His knuckles crunched and bruised as if he’d punched into granite. With a single brawny arm, his captor smothered him against his chest of shriveled spear-leaves. Then he grabbed a handful of Scarlet’s hair to reveal the base of his neck and punctured through the skin with his teeth.

  Pain seared through him, sharp and crippling, and then magnified as the fangs pierced deeper into his veins. The creature drank, its splintered lips clamping to his skin and creating a sickening sensation of tight suction. With the next bite, he feared the Wild Man might gnash through the hazel collar and sever his jugular, but the savage was not allowed to be greedy. Even as the Wild Man’s teeth scraped upward, one of his hungry companions seized Scarlet from behind and ripped him away. Catching a glimpse of his own blood dripping from craggy gray-white lips, Scarlet choked on his cry. Then the rest of the mob eclipsed his view.

  With the last of his strength, Scarlet kicked out. It was hopeless. The Wild Men caught his arms and legs, winding thick creepers around his wrists and ankles to cut deep into his flesh.

  Dizzy and bleeding, Scarlet’s wits fractured under the weight of his torture. He could no longer tell what was right or wrong, sweet or foul, only what he truly believed. So he shouted out, as loudly as he could muster: “Brien! Help me!”

  Melmoth Brien tore through the green mists of a dark, wretched place that could only be the realm of Niogaerst. He smelled sweat, flesh, and Scarlet.

  The scene he headed for bled slowly into his consciousness and made him feel sick to the guts. He caught a glimpse of Scarlet amid the sea of rampaging Wild Men, struggling against his bonds and so terrified that his fear was tangible in Brien’s own heart. The Wild Men’s huge members were dripping and erect. How many of them intended to force their way inside one little woodsman? A chest-stabbing fear spurred Brien’s fury. If they thrust themselves inside Scarlet, his fragile body might be ripped apart.

  He did not slow his pace even for a moment. Power twitched in his straining muscles, and knowledge streamed through his consciousness. Holgaerst was real enough. And Scarlet was bound to its stre
ngth in one guise or another. So what was the truth that flowed through Brien’s veins?

  It was no time for philosophizing. Brien could no longer see Scarlet in the midst of the fray. He screamed his name, expecting silence. Then the reply filtered through the ether, faint and terrified.

  “Brien! Help me!”

  Wrenching a branch from a tree as his weapon, Brien did not hesitate. With one blow, he swiped aside two Wild Men, sending them sprawling. Then he cast it aside. He needed to pummel his fists into these creatures who dared to touch his underling, punish them with flesh against flesh.

  Seizing two by the hair, he cracked their skulls together, watching the whites of their eyes flash up, their primitive sentience fleeing. Set on by another from behind, he spiraled to face it, unleashing white-hot lightning with the slam of his boot. In this foul realm, the phenomenon scarcely startled him. So intent was his fury, it felt invigorating and natural. Brien worked methodically then, dispatching swiftly with fists and kicks—until he was left with just the Wild Man closest to Scarlet, who was so intent upon shoving his cock toward the boy’s mouth that he was oblivious to the carnage around him.

  Brien roared so loudly that the earth shook. “Mine!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Mine!”

  Scarlet heard Brien’s call. Even as his heart leaped, he closed his mind to it, numbed by his shame. He had failed. He should never have called his captain here to witness his debasement.

  He knelt with his hands and ankles bound behind him, pressing his lips together as tightly as he could. The wrinkled head of the Wild Man’s shaft closed in upon his mouth, reeking like festering carrion. And still he could not shut out the Lord of the Hazel.

  “You want to taste the seed of Niogaerst.”

  No. He didn’t, even though a yearning ache still rippled through him from the hazel plug in his arse and whispered in his soul.

  “You want to be filled by Niogaerst.”

  Scarlet did feel like the forest’s whore, weak and horribly small. He tried to twist his head away, but the Wild Man cupped a clawlike hand about the back of his injured neck, tightening the pressure of the collar and pushing him forward. One more heartbeat and he would be forced to open his mouth and take that thick shaft. If he had to, he hoped he’d the strength left to bite it off.

  But then the cock at his lips was jerked away, and Scarlet found himself sinking to the cold soil, shivering and gasping in the putrid air. Brien seized the last Wild Man by the hair and hurled him toward a tree as if he weighed no more than a straw doll. The Wild Man hit the trunk with a smash and crumpled lifelessly into the swamp.

  “You…you came.” Relief momentarily overcoming him, Scarlet spoke in ragged gasps. He knew he should tell the man to leave immediately but could not bring himself to do it.

  Dropping to his knees, Brien gathered him into his arms and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. It was impossible for Scarlet not to melt into him, wishing he could just be absorbed into the much stronger being. He’d willingly die there, if just to lessen the sense of humiliation that pounded inside of him, more unbearable than his multitude of cuts and bruises. Tears pressing at his eyes, he buried his face in Brien’s chest.

  “I’m sorry… I’m sorry. But…there were so many…they were so strong. I couldn’t… I tried. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

  “No. It was not your fault; it was mine. I should never have left you.” Lowering him to the earth, Brien gently pried away the bonds about his wrists and ankles. When he removed the clamps from his nipples, Scarlet curled his fists and toes, the pain scorching, and then Brien eased him onto his belly to pull out the hazel plug. But this time, Scarlet scarcely felt any sensation at all. Something foul was messing with his senses and desires once more. Lifting Scarlet back against his chest, Brien caressed his brow and gazed down anxiously. His handsome features were rich with compassion, and there were words too, so sweet that Scarlet’s deadening heart fluttered.

  “I’ve got you, lad. I came for you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should never have left you.”

  Scarlet could barely comprehend him. He had to tell Brien to leave this foul realm of Niogaerst, to find a way to beat Jemima before she came for him too. But the Lord of the Hazel’s voice still hammered in his head, refusing to leave him be.

  “You have done well, my underling whore. I was told that pretty arse of yours could lure a protector. You’ve not disappointed.”

  Scarlet’s chest rattled with a joyless laugh.

  Brien frowned. “What is it?”

  The ritual had worked. He knew then he was sinking—sinking ever deeper into the realm of Niogaerst. He was becoming a true wraith, and if he did not do anything about it, the Lord of the Hazel would certainly drag Brien down too. Scarlet had to save him. With wrenching effort, he rolled from Brien’s comforting embrace.

  “Damn you!” Scarlet scrambled unsteadily to his feet, backing away as Brien reached for him. “Stay away from me, faederswica! You cast me here, and I hate you with all my heart.”

  The sharp words rang hollow. Brien rose to his full height, his concern growing as his gaze slid down Scarlet’s ravaged body.

  The lad’s hair hung limp, sticking in clumps to wet cheeks. Were they stained with tears or sweat or, worse, the Wild Men’s seed? It was hard to tell. And he seemed so much tinier than before. His skin was shrunk tight against heaving ribs and raw sinew, and the gash on his neck and the bleeding lacerations on his body accentuated his deathly white colour. Most unsettling of all, those soft blue eyes had grown hard as diamonds. But still Brien wanted to pull Scarlet into his arms, to bandage his wounds, then to hold him and reassure him that he would never know such terror again. And, damn it, he knew it was wrong, but he wanted to claim those once-sweet lips with his own and kiss the sickness, whatever it was, out of him.

  Scarlet’s angry right hook to Brien’s jaw sent him staggering back.

  It was not a cracking blow, and Brien felt little anger. On the contrary, he stared calmly down at the glittering fury in Scarlet’s eyes as the boy rubbed his bruised knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he said. “As I said, I should never have left you. And I will never leave you again.”

  “Stay away! Are you really such a fool as not to see?” Lurching forward, Scarlet raised himself onto his tiptoes, pressed his face as close to Brien’s as he could, and cackled viciously; his breath smelled bitter, and his lips were tinged blue. “I’m a proper wraith now…ha! I would have given myself to all of them willingly. I’m surprised you didn’t want to watch. Although…maybe you too like me best like this?” Scarlet sank away, his features twisted in a sneer. “I believe you do.”

  “No. It is the foulness that has made you this way, but we can find a way to undo it, I promise.”

  “You are wrong, faederswica. This is my true self, and this is how you desire me.”

  The words were a pathetic lie, but they stung more than they ought. Here in this stupefying underworld, they were starting to feel like the truth. Brien stared as Scarlet tossed his hair back, running his fingers through the dank, tangled strands. The woodsman grinned ravishingly and touched his tongue to his forefinger before sucking the digit into his mouth.

  He knew he had to resist this temptation, but he could not contain a lustful groan. He needed to shake some sense into Scarlet, but damn it, the boy trailed his wet finger down his naked, bloodied torso, moaning breathily under his own touch. Roughly rubbing his flat belly, Scarlet let his fingers linger over the sign of the hazel, glowering at Brien from beneath drooping lashes.

  Fuck. Whatever Scarlet was doing, it was both disturbingly alluring and the very last thing Brien wanted from him at that moment. What should he do? Overpower Scarlet physically after everything the boy had just been through? He could not bring himself to do that, even if just to stop him, and words seemed useless. His frustration simmered, vying with his unwanted lust as Scarlet cupped his groin in his hand and moaned, abandoning himself to wanton pleasure.
Then, running both hands up his body again, Scarlet began to move.

  Fists curled tightly at his sides, Brien stood transfixed. There may have been no music, but Scarlet was dancing, his arms and legs and hips animated by those same jerky yet oddly graceful movements that had enchanted him before. Should he sing? The notion shot fleetingly through his mind. Then Scarlet gasped toward the sullen skies, and it started to rain. Large green raindrops trickled down his face, throat, and torso, washing away the blood and soaking the remnants of his loin cloth so they clung to the contours of his jutting prick, his rounded buttocks.

  The poisonous rain seeped into Brien, fuelling the cloying throb in his loins. He refused to be manipulated. They had to get out of there. He grabbed Scarlet’s wrist and jerked the lad around. Water cascaded over Scarlet’s cheekbones, making them shimmer like they’d been carved from glass. Brien’s response was visceral. He crushed the smaller man to him and plastered his lips to Scarlet’s.

  The kiss was hard. Scarlet’s mouth remained tight, and Brien could feel his teeth gritted beneath. When he broke away, Scarlet’s diamond eyes were livid.

  He steeled himself. “You’re coming with me. I won’t leave you here, Scarlet. Damn it, not now.”

  With a feral cry, Scarlet dropped to his knees, hands and teeth ripping apart the fabric that tented over Brien’s cock until he freed it.

  “Not now!” But Brien’s voice tightened and strained as his body cried yes! “This is madness. We have to find a way out of here.”

  Scarlet’s breath skimmed over his exposed, semierect member. Every breath felt tepid and laboured, as if it was an effort to drag it into his lungs. Something was desperately wrong. Then ice-cool fingertips kneaded down his throbbing prick, Scarlet parted his dry lips, and Brien was on the verge of not caring.

  Grabbing the lad by the shoulders, he pushed him away. The woodsman fell back onto his haunches, scrunching his face in obvious anguish.

  “Just…just leave me…please.” Scarlet rose, shakily dragging his arm back for another swing. This time Brien blocked it easily, and Scarlet’s fist slammed feebly into his palm.