Chapter 14 RUN. RUN. RUN.
(Adelaide)
The beast prowled closer. Each step made the ground shudder. The sound of his weight on the earth was a slow, heavy rhythm, like a war drum echoing through the clearing.
Girls crawled backward or collapsed. One begged for mercy. Another whispered a desperate prayer, breath hitching with every word.
But the Devil didn’t look at them.
He looked over them. Scanning. Measuring. Choosing. His attention skimmed across their bowed heads like a blade gliding over water—no purchase, no interest, nothing to catch on.
His breath came out in hot, ragged puffs of smoke, each exhale swirling white in the winter air. His claws scraped furrows into the earth, tearing through frozen soil like butter. The grooves he left behind filled with powdered frost and loose dirt, sixteen dark scars carved into the Offering ground.
When he reached the line of girls, the first few screamed and scrambled away. The beast snorted, lowering his massive head to inspect them—then moved on.
He didn’t want them.
Adelaide felt it before she understood it. She had felt it the moment the forest went silent. The moment the world held its breath.
Something electric in the air. Something pulling toward her. Her pulse hammered. The mark of red thread around her wrist prickled, an almost imperceptible warmth, as if the colour itself had caught his eye before his gaze even lifted.
No.
No, no, no—he’s not allowed. He does not get to choose me. I chose. I stepped forward. I took her place. That was my decision. You do not get to claim what I’ve already claimed.
But he was already choosing.
The beast passed girl after girl—barely noticing the ones trembling in puddles of their own terror.
Then he reached Calia. The thin girl whimpered, tears streaking down her face. For one horrifying heartbeat, Adelaide thought he would take her—take this fragile doe and crush her without a thought.
But the Devil sniffed the air around Calia—one deep inhale—then moved on.
Straight toward Adelaide.
Her stomach dropped. Her knees threatened to give. But she locked her spine, forcing her chin up.
If he expects me to bow, he’ll be disappointed. If he wants me broken, he can do it in the dark with no witnesses—but he will not have it here.
The beast neared her and stopped.
Right. In. Front. Of. Her.
His chest was a wall of fur and heat. His breath blasted down over her like a furnace, reeking of smoke and iron and something older—something primal. There was a note in it she couldn’t name, like burned cedar and storm-charged air, the scent of things that existed long before villages and bells and bargains.
Adelaide’s entire body trembled. Her jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Her palms bled where her nails dug into them. Every terrified instinct in her screamed: RUN.
RUN. RUN. RUN.
The beast leaned in, mere inches away from her. Hot, moist breath rolled over Adelaide’s face in huffs strong enough to lift loose strands of her hair. His massive head lowered—horns slicing the air above her, teeth gleaming, a snarling maw inches from her throat.
Every instinct she had screamed at her to run. Every instinct he had told him she would.
He lowered further.
Girls whimpered behind her. The villagers gasped. Someone fainted.
Adelaide didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
She locked her knees until they trembled violently, forcing herself to stay upright as the Devil inhaled deeply against her neck. The heat of his breath scorched her skin. Her pulse hammered wildly against the column of her throat, so close to his teeth she could almost feel the drag of them without him moving.
And then something impossible happened. The growl rumbling out of his chest changed pitch. Lower. Darker. Nearly… thoughtful. His head cocked slightly, as if studying her.
The massive beast scenting the curve of her throat suddenly felt intentional. Not instinct. Recognition.
His burning eyes—monstrous, molten—locked onto hers. Not like an animal hunting its prey. Like something aware. Something choosing.
Her blood ran cold. It felt as though ice water had been poured down the inside of her spine, chasing away the heat of his breath and leaving everything sharp and horribly clear.
Then— His monstrous form shifted.
It didn’t shrink. It didn’t change shape. Its face gentled, looking almost human.
But something inside it pushed forward—like a shadow taking on clarity, like a second presence stepping through the same body. And the beast spoke. Not with a roar. Not with a snarl. With words.
A low, rumbling voice, deep as a collapsing mountain, echoed from his chest: “Run well,”
Adelaide’s breath stuttered. Her heart punched painfully against her ribs. The syllables wrapped around her like chains—softly spoken, impossibly heavy.
He leaned in closer, clawlike feet curling into the dirt on either side of her, boxing her in without touching her. Its giant talon-tipped hand reached for her, like it might tear open her throat before the hunt even began. His heat pressed against her exposed skin so intensely she swore she might blister. Sweat prickled at the small of her back despite the winter air, trapped under thin cotton and hot fear.
Then—his voice shifted again. Something silkier slid beneath the growl—a whisper that didn’t match the monstrous shape.
A voice she would surely remember through the rest of her days. It coiled around her name even though he hadn’t spoken it, as if he’d already found it somewhere in the marrow of her bones.
“Run well, Little Flame.”
Her entire body went still.
Little—what?
Her jaw clenched. Fury flooded her chest, hot enough to burn through her terror. “I will not run for you,” she spat, forcing her voice out through locked teeth.
The beast let out a sound that was half-growl, half-laugh. A horrible, guttural sound that vibrated against her ribs. “You will,” the voice murmured from inside that enormous, snarling maw.
His head tilted, those molten eyes dragging down her body, not with lust, but with the slow, evaluating sweep of a predator that found its favourite prize.
Her stomach twisted violently. Heat crawled beneath her skin, not desire but the humiliation of being assessed, measured, weighed, as if every inch of her had already been counted and claimed.
The beast’s lips curled.
“Because I want you to run.”
Heat exploded down her spine, furious and cold all at once. She wanted to spit at him. Wanted to punch him. Wanted to run. Wanted to grab his horns and yank until his neck snapped.
Her fingers curled into fists so hard her nails dug crescents into her palms.
He inhaled again, deeper this time, as if savouring something only he could smell.
Her anger, perhaps.
The voice, his smooth rumbling voice, murmured: “And what I want… I take.”