The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

37. Avina

37

AVINA

November 24th, Year 100, 9th Era

Guardian Mausoleum, Salt Province

B efore anyone else can react, the imposing figure on her left, bearing an antlered stag skull as a mask, moves forward. A slight head shake from the wolf skull against the opposite stone wall halts its progress even if it makes no effort to approach her.

The final figure she finds the most unsettling. A human skull conceals their face, and the darkness further obscures their features.

She instinctively clutches the Ridge Sacred Stone in her mitten-shrouded hand. The sapphire pulses with that familiar reassurance.

What is it reassuring?

Drinking in the scene, she wonders if she has stumbled upon those facilitating the Salt Stone’s Ceremony.

One of these masked men must be Sigvid! She is sure she heard his voice when she entered the mausoleum. Yet, the silence and hulking shadows make her uneasy enough to question her logic.

Stag Mask’s hulking form persists closer with a gloved hand outstretched as if offering support. The sapphire burns hot in her hand as if warning her against them.

A menacing growl reverberates across the tight space. There is no mistaking the three for their broad chests, tensing muscles, and hardened features beneath the cloaks as men. The man in the human skull mask growls until the Stag Mask retreats.

Sigvid?

Some aspect of each of these men reminds her of the Salt Prince. “I apologize,” she hesitantly approaches the doorway. “It appears I have stumbled upon a private matter.”

Skull Mask, whom she swiftly identifies as the leader, takes a confident step closer. She slides her foot back only to stumble into the wall. The beast stalking her pauses long enough to tilt its bony head, and in the faint light, she can almost discern a wicked grin underneath.

She bolts from the room, not risking uncovering the identity of these monsters—even if one of them is Sigvid.

Her feet echo throughout the Guardian Mausoleum, and only when she is halfway up the staircase does she hear the heavy footfalls of one of the masked men pursuing her in the darkness.

Her strides feel sluggish against her racing heart, which urges her onward. Winter air whips at her flushed cheeks as she dives into the night. At her back, the doors of the mausoleum snap shut.

If she follows the path back to the city, she can use the walls to lead her to an open gate. Grim, Slode, or another Drengr can escort her home.

What if they wish to kill me? Finn did. Kar is less murderous and more apathetic. Slode will aid me as Sigvid’s oldest friend, right?

But her sense of safety shatters at the crash of the crypt door. Twisting around, she sees Skull Mask searching the area before settling that eerie, eyeless focus on her retreating form.

She tears off into the frozen forest. The wind bites at her exposed skin, and despite the fur clothing, the cold air descends into uninhabitable territory.

White snow swirls, reminding her she is losing time to find shelter.

I must be close to Blackwood .

The thickening snow halfway up her legs slices her movements in half. Once her lungs begin to protest, she collapses against a tree trunk.

Maybe he gave up? She risks a look over her shoulder and feels her body tighten.

Skull Mask has vanished.

Avina’s eyes peer across the expanse of Salt blackwood trees to find herself very much alone. Yet, why does she not feel like she is the only one in this forest? She senses the presence of someone hidden among the gnarled sentinels doing little to assuage her imminent terror.

Her hand clutches the Ridge stone, and she wills herself to vanish. The familiar trickle of invisibility crawls over her skin, shielding her and the stone.

Crunch… Crunch… Crunch…

She trudges through the snowy underbrush, her legs burning from the wet cold permeating her dress. A loud yawn trembles through her tired body, wobbling on her shaky legs.

Once again, she stops to get her bearings when she hears it.

Crunch… Crunch… Crunch…

The echoing sound of boots sinking in the snow draws her gaze over her shoulder to the empty darkness.

Then, the bitter wind dies down, and snowfall ceases.

All woodland sounds, including the deer snorts and the faint flutter of the birds of prey, are quiet against the night as if something more sinister has entered their sanctuary. She is careful to pivot her head and not make a sound.

The figure has vanished again.

Where did he go?

An owl hoots loudly, jolting Avina forward. The brief pause disorients her sense of direction, forcing her to change course.

She has not ventured far when the sickening sound of those boots slicing through the snow from behind the nearest tree drum in her heart once more.

“Show yourself!” Her nerve breaks, leaving her voice hollow with fear.

Can he still see me through my power?

Skull Mask slides out behind a tree, and marches towards her with gloved hands curled into fists.

Goddess, he can see me! How is that possible?

She wobbles away, plunging deeper into the woods with abandon.

Despite Sigvid’s urging, she left the dagger he gifted her on a table in Blackwood. She steals a look as the masked beast dodges the winding maze of trees and begins to catch up to her.

If he reaches her, she will have no method of defending herself. She will succumb to whatever wretched debauchery the man has on his mind.

The snow only deepens the further she runs, catching her feet in trenches of unrelenting powder. Every step she believes is creating distance between her and her pursuer only serves to pull her closer.

At one turn in the forest, she swears that hot breath tickles down her neck.

Avina runs past a large blackwood tree and pauses to catch her breath. Exhaustion has her in its grasp so tightly that she fears she might faint.

A black gloved hand reaches from behind and rubs her forearm. The figure is even more terrifying up close. Its hollow black eyes are like soulless voids.

She screams in horror, losing her control. He clutches her wrist, pulling her towards him.

Her scream echoes seemingly forever across the frozen wasteland.

“Let me go!” She aims a shaky punch at the skull that her stalker catches.

“Please,” her tears are all dried up, leaving her a trembling mess of terror.

How can he see her with her invisibility active?

That shouldn't be possible!

The hands release, and Avina bolts away on the pulsing adrenaline. After stumbling through the snow a bit longer, a ramshackle building rises in the distance like a beacon of hope.

It's probably an old hunting cabin this far out from the city.

When she reaches the front door, she breathes a sigh of relief and nearly cries with happiness when she finds it unlocked. Avina locks the door and whips around.

She is right. It appears to be an unused one-room hunting cabin. She tears through the kitchen drawers but can’t find anything to defend herself with.

Could this be Sigvid toying with me? Why did he not reveal himself in the mausoleum?

The Skull Mask could not have been far away, even in the deep snow. She collapses on the sheetless bed in the corner to regain her breath. Everything is silent, save the sounds of her haggard breathing.

And then her heart stops beating.

Crunching footsteps stalk around the perimeter of the cabin. She dry sobs as the reality that she will not survive the night seeps into her frigid bones.

He found me.

A black figure creeps past the front windows, reminding her only a decrepit door sits between her and the pursuer. Scratches along the window above nearly have her relieving herself in her undergarments.

She slumps down on the bed, pressing a quivery hand over her mouth.

Why does he want me? He must know I am Queen Avina and seeks revenge for the war.

The figure passes by the window next to the door, and silence fills the space. Moments creep by, and she wonders if Skull Mask has chosen to spare her life.

And then the front door knob rattles.

Tears finally release.

What if he is a creature of the Abyss? How else could he see me through my invisibility?

The rattling stops, and after two heartbeats, she is about to double-check the door when it slams open.

She screams so loud her throat burns.

Skull Mask stands in the outline of the whiteness blanketing the world. Those broad shoulders heave under his cloak, blending into the darkness of the cabin. He takes reactive, thumping steps across the floor toward her exhausted and beaten form on the bed.

“Stay back!” She orders with what little strength remains .

She jumps to her feet and stands in his path. “Prince Sigvid Thordsson will have your head. Or skull. Or whatever is in there!”

The hooded figure does pause its pursuit only to bark out a deep, terrifying laugh that leaves her trembling.

“Sigvid, help me,” she whispers, rolling up her left sleeve and revealing the scar carved into her left arm.

“See!” She shrieks.

Skull Mask must know the current Guardian if she uncovered him in the Guardian crypt.

“He has marked me. That means you can’t touch me.”

The beast grips her marked arm, and her heart stops beating. A gloved hand rises to grip the jaw of the skull. When the mask lifts, she briefly sees a beard with two braids.

The look is popular among the bearded folks of Toftlund. It could be anyone. Without proper lighting, the shade of his hair is impossible to discern.

His tongue slithers out from underneath the mask to lick the outline of the scars along her skin. The tip of his tongue tingles the wetness between her legs.

Goddess, why does fear elicit such a response in me?

When the tip of his tongue finishes tracing the final letter, he snatches both her arms and binds her wrists behind her back with a rope he pulls from inside his black cloak.

The rough yet tender machinations are reminiscent of Sigvid. Is this him? Her Beast?

A greater terror rocks her body like a boulder struck her.

Oh, Goddess, what if this is not him?

“Stop! Sigvid will not stand for this!” She thrashes against her bindings, horrified by what the masked man has in store, and determined that he will show himself.

Another dark laugh erupts from the skull. He tugs her gown until the material gathers at her waist and exposes her undergarments. She watches in disdain as he removes them, taking a moment to inhale her scent of fear and arousal with a growl.

She kicks and screams for help, but a leather belt tightens around her mouth, silencing her to mumbles. As he fastens the strap at the back of her hair, she can feel gloved fingers gently twisting around her curls in a manner that vaguely reminds her of her Prince.

The reassurance of her attacker is brief, although not enough to make her relax.

While holding apart her ankles, Skull Mask continues to peer eerily at her. One of his gloved hands leaves its position to lift on the mask just as he dives down between her legs and devours her lips with his devilish tongue.

His warm, swirling flesh feels sinful, striking right along her most sensitive area and tugging her toward a path to release she is not prepared to give.

Again, she tries to kick him away, but his grip is unyielding as he continues to strike her bundle of nerves until she descends into a waterfall of lust.

No, this is not Sigvid! But what do I owe him that he is tearing me up inside?

Guilt settles into her gut like a rock, flushing her with accusations.

How dare she feel this pleasure!

Has Sigvid not remained loyal? But in what sense?

They are not courting. She does not belong to him. For all she knows, he vanishes during the day to visit the whorehouse. He spends more time away from Blackwood than within, and is that not his prerogative as Prince?

I am not enough for him to see me as a sole consort.

When she is nothing but a panting mess, begging for release, Skull Mask rises like a mountain between her legs to hold her hostage in his dreaded gaze.

His cloak falls away, revealing a fine black tunic with matching trousers. His gloved hand deftly undoes the strings of his pants before flipping her onto her stomach.

What would Sigvid say if I took another man’s cock? He would hate me! I would hate me! He will toss me out into the cold for me to die alone. Anything but alone!

Pleadings mumble through the belt as she shakes her head, but his cock slides inside anyway. He relentlessly pounds against her pelvis, wrecking her body with each thrust. His member slides in and out of her wetness, somehow managing to strike her exactly where she needs him to hit.

She tries to inhale, but her throat catches her breath and seems to return it to her lungs. The choking of her breath happens again and again until she chokes uncomfortably from the panic seizing her body.

Convulsions wreck her chest from the sheer terror of facing Sigvid after this. Knowing she will likely cum on this man’s cock and realizing the devotion she feels toward the Salt Prince. An affection she has likely always had.

Growling emits from underneath the skull as one of his hands releases from her waist to roughly handle her breasts through the fabric of her gown.

Again, he turns her over until she is once more on her back, spread wide for him. She hears the unsheathing of a blade and can barely process his intentions before he rips the front of her lovely bodice away, revealing her bare breasts to him.

Shivers join the convulsions in a sick, twisted dance that is her bound body.

Between his thumb and forefingers, he squeezes her pebbled nipples. She groans in unbearable pain and pleasure. A damned moan rocks her body, betraying her to him. Tears flood her eyes until they burn. Her congested nose and the leather strap threaten to siphon what little breath remains.

The withered bed creaks and cracks under them until the wooden frame breaks underneath. Skull Mask growls in frustration.

Keeping his throbbing member buried inside her, he picks her up and sets her bare ass on the table. He continues to plow into her womanhood until she can feel the building of pleasure deep within her core.

He grips her shoulders, his fingertips tracing along her neck, stimulating goosebumps across her skin. The skeletal jaw hovers at her ear, and she can feel the cold bone press against her skin.

“Filthy whore, your pussy sucked me right in. Tell me, do you enjoy this?” His labored breathing climbs along with her damned orgasm.

She shakes her head, mumbling denials through her gag.

“Speak slut.” He hisses.

She sobs a ‘yes’ that is a mumbled utterance. His cock, bottoming her out in a gasp, rests deep in her soft flesh.

She blinks in time for a strip of cloth to blind her eyes. The cabin is dark, but the blindfold has her thrashing to regain her sight.

He chuckles darkly at her struggles.

She feels his skin-tingling tongue trace her skin around the gag. The point of his tongue moves closer to the leather until he licks his belt with a groan.

“I fucking love you helpless in your submission to me, my little Queen. You cannot move, talk, or see. Do you get off being my powerless fucking whore?”

The panic drops, and she sobs harder. My Sigvid!

The belt buckle unclips enough that the leather falls to her neck, exposing her mouth to him. His firm lips crash onto hers with a fervent need she reciprocates.

His taste is like home and her deepest desire all in one. Two bare fingers force their way into her mouth, pressing down onto her tongue.

“I ask again, does that cunt squeeze at the thought of being owned by me?”

Her walls tighten around his cock, stimulating a growl from him.

“Answer me like the good fucking whore I am turning you into.”

“I am Sigvid’s whore.” She chokes on his fingers as his hips pick up their rhythm.

His lips press against her forehead while his fingers thrust to the back of her throat, gagging her. She cannot hold back her release any longer. Her body breaks into an explosion of pleasure. A cadence of gargled moans sounds from her mouth.

A satisfied groan emanates from Sigvid when she finishes. More dark laughter as he buries his seed deep inside of her.

She feels fingers fumbling with the tie of her mask until it falls away. Avina blinks, trying to keep her eyes open, but fails. Her adrenaline crashes down with her exhaustion and hunger.

He undoes her bindings and cradles her in his arms. He settles her onto the bed and perches beside her, watching as sleep drags her under.

“Sleep with the stone, Avina.” He utters the Ridge goodbye with a reverberating laugh. “I always wanted to say that before I killed you. Guess this will have to do.” Sigvid’s lips plant another scratchy kiss on her forehead.

She cannot stop sobbing. Relief douses the fear, the guilt, and the anger has damn near ruined her. How dare Sigvid have subjugated her to this!

Before she can lash out with her frustration, she blacks out.