5. The Warmth
The intensifying snowstorm obscured his vision. In the forest, everything turning white, the man pushed through the snow on horseback as if accustomed to these conditions. Soon, a hunter's cabin came into view.
He dismounted and lifted the woman. She collapsed limply into his arms, resembling nothing so much as a corpse being dragged in. Her face was drained of all color. Her body, soaked through after long hours wandering the forest, held no warmth.
Holding the woman, he kicked the door open. With a dull thud, the timber door swung inward, revealing the interior.
A fireplace with crimson flames flickering, a nearby chair, and a bed covered in animal furs. The furnishings were sparse.
His boot prints left sharp impressions with each step. As soon as he entered the warm interior, the snow that had settled on their clothes began to melt rapidly.
From above the fireplace to near the ceiling, the walls were covered with the heads of dead beasts. Hunting trophies lined every surface, their eyes gleaming as if they might spring to life at any moment.
The head of a stag with magnificently branched antlers looked as if it might charge forward. The shaggy head of a brown bear was mounted with the same expression it had worn while hunting its prey. Its bared fangs glinted eerily in the firelight.
The man laid the woman down slowly on the bed before the fireplace. Reaching behind his neck, he stripped off his snow-soaked shirt in one motion. The crimson firelight played across his solid shoulders and chest. He turned back to the woman.
"......"
Her face had grown paler still. Snow melting from her body dripped onto the floor. Looking at her cloak, stained red with blood, he began removing her clothes without hesitation.
Rustle.
The cloak came off, revealing a winter coat and skirt layered beneath. He removed the bag slung diagonally across her and tossed it to the floor. Thud. Whatever was inside, it was quite heavy. Each layer of waterlogged clothing he removed made soft sounds that echoed quietly through the cabin.
Her body, now only in woolen undergarments, was frailer than expected. He reached out, grasped the thin fabric, and pulled.
Rip.
The cloth tore easily. As he peeled away the blood-caked fragments, the wound was laid bare. Just below her shin, a graze from a bullet had torn the flesh. The wound itself wasn't deep, but continuous walking had opened it further, causing it to bleed steadily. He roughly bound the torn flesh with the torn cloth and pressed down.
After binding the relatively minor wound, he turned to her ankle. The sharp teeth of the trap that had clamped down had gouged deep into the flesh. The trap, meant for a bear, was made of strong steel and powerful enough to crush bone. Fortunately, the wound wasn't deep enough to expose bone. Without the branch caught between the jaws, her ankle would surely have been shattered.
Was she lucky, then?
A faint smile played at the man's lips. Which was better—to be buried in the snowy forest, or to be caught by him? It was hard to say which fate was luckier.
He noticed a piece of rusty metal protruding from her ankle. Its sharp end was embedded quite deeply; he would need to cut it out.
He drew the dagger from his belt. After scraping it against the floor a few times, the already sharp blade was honed to a finer edge.
"Nngh..."
At the faint moan, he looked up. The woman's half-lidded eyes were fixed on him. Though unfocused, she seemed to recognize what he held. Instinctive fear crossed her delicate features.
Rasiel couldn't help but laugh. Even with her face twisted in pain, she feared the blade instinctively.
So pathetic. So insignificant.
"Ah..."
He rose, knife in hand. As he approached, the woman's terrified eyes widened, her body recoiling. Her ragged breath and frantic movements made her resemble a deer with a mortal wound, at death's door.
He could snap that slender neck with one hand. No need for a knife.
"Ah... ugh..."
Tears beaded and fell from her eyes. Her gaze was fixed solely on the hand holding the blade.
"Does it hurt?"
He knelt on one knee before her, speaking softly.
"......"
Meeting his red eyes, the woman was speechless.
"Bear it."
He seized her ankle. A scream of agony escaped her, but his hands showed no mercy.
The sharp blade began to probe the wound. Arishte couldn't even scream at the sensation of the wound being opened.
Moments later, the man held a small shard of metal, no bigger than a fingernail. He tossed it away. Arishte heard it clatter across the cabin floor.
"......"
She exhaled raggedly. The pain was excruciating but brief. As she was still catching her breath, he lifted her leg again. Her face crumpled like wrinkled paper.
The torn flesh was nothing. He examined her ankle, which seemed twisted at an odd angle from the force of the trap. He grasped it gently with both hands. At that, her eyes flew wide.
She shook her head, resisting. After being so limp from pain, she seemed to summon strength from nowhere. Annoyed, he gathered both her wrists in one hand and pulled her toward him. With a gasp, she was drawn against his chest, facing him.
Her face, when he looked, was full of confusion. She seemed to be asking if he meant to kill her or save her. A faint smile touched his lips.
"If it hurts, bite down."
He pulled her close, steadying her body, then took hold of her ankle again.
"Ngh..."
She bit into his shoulder as he'd suggested. His muscles were solid. Still, teeth grinding against flesh must have been something.
"No... don't..."
Her face contorted, anticipating the coming pain. A wonderful expression.
Crack.
"Ah!"
A sharp cry filled the cabin. Arishte buried her face in his shoulder and groaned. Her trembling limbs spoke to the intensity of the pain she'd just endured. Her hands clawed wildly at his bare skin, leaving red welts, but he didn't flinch.
The hands gouging his skin gradually weakened. Watching her, as if finished with his task, he rose.
He bit the cork from a bottle of alcohol and spat it aside. Not the best method, but there was nothing else to wash and disinfect the wound with.
"Ah, aah..."
Her soft moans had grown more agonized. He knelt beside her.
Slowly, he tilted the bottle, pouring its contents over the wound. As the cold liquid touched the wound, she winced. Rasiel held her firmly as she writhed.
"Hah... ugh..."
Arishte went limp, leaning against him. Her ankle felt like it was on fire. As her teeth began to chatter, he laid her back on the furs. She twisted on the bed like a snake burned by fire, shaking it with her convulsions. He watched impassively.
"Hah..."
A low sigh escaped her, and her body suddenly went slack. The pain had finally overtaken her consciousness. In such times, fainting was perhaps the easier way.
He sat beside her unconscious form, watching. The heat that had flushed her moments ago was fading to cold. Despite being near the fire, her body was cold. So cold.
He looked down at her expressionlessly. Something dark stirred within him.
The fireplace radiated heat, but it didn't seem to reach her. She needed other warmth. More direct warmth.
Rustle.
He picked up the rum bottle and brought it to his lips. His throat moved as he drank deeply.
He tossed the bottle aside and unfastened his trousers. He had already removed his shirt, leaving only his buckskin breeches.
He peeled off the damp leather pants and tossed them aside, leaving only his smooth, powerful body. He moved toward the woman.
"......"
He stood over her, looking down. Her face, pale as carved marble, had no color. Her lips were tinged blue, like a frozen corpse. If left as she was, that would be her fate.
He leaned down and began removing the remaining clothes that covered her body. Already torn, they came away easily.
"Nngh..."
She whimpered. Even unconscious, the pain in her calf and ankle was sharp. Perhaps it was like when he'd brought in a deer caught in a trap.
That doe had looked at him with reproachful eyes, and he had stared back as he plunged his knife into her neck.
"......"
His gaze went to the hunting trophies above the fireplace. The stag with its proud antlers was mounted there.
Would this woman wear such an expression when she died? That question could wait.
What he wanted now was to see those eyes looking directly at him.
Creak.
His knee pressed into the furs covering the bed. Only her snow-darkened golden hair veiled her naked body.
He brushed strands from her face, observing her intently. Motionless as a predator watching its sleeping prey, he didn't move. Her body grew stiffer by the moment.
"......"
Her hands and feet, visible outside the fur blanket, had a wasted look. He slid under the blanket, and she burrowed immediately into his arms.
He embraced her ice-cold body. A whimpering sound rose from her throat, like a young animal seeking its mother's warmth. When he shifted to adjust his position, she shuddered and pressed closer. Looking at her arms, wrapped tightly around his shoulders, a faint smile crossed his face. He lowered his gaze, taking in her naked body.
Between her breasts, her golden hair cascaded. With each breath, the pink tips of her breasts were glimpsed.
"At least these are pink."
He chuckled, flicking a nipple with his finger. As if in response, it stiffened to greet him.
"......"
His gaze deepened. He drew the pink bud into his mouth.
"Nngh... ugh..."
He sucked and licked as he pleased. When he released her breast, the pale pink had turned a deep, flushed red. He was pleased with the result.
Between her breasts, he caught a faint scent of grass. It tickled his nose. He buried his face between them, inhaling deeply. The unfamiliar scent and the fluttering of her heart soothed his sharp-edged nerves.
After a long moment with his face between her breasts, he lifted his head. His gaze fell on her pallid features. She was still trembling.
He leaned slowly over her trembling form. When her breasts touched his chest, she flinched violently.
He slipped a hand behind her back, pulling her closer. Except where his lips had touched, her entire body was like ice. It was like holding a block of ice.
She lay limply in his arms, like a corpse long trapped in ice.
His large hands rubbed her arms, stroked her back. The heat from their pressed bodies was slowly warming her. Her stiff form began to melt under his touch. Her purple-tinged fingertips and lips regained some color.
This time, he sucked her lips. Warm breath escaped them. He sucked her lower lip, deepening its color. A clear sign of life pulsing.
His hands quickened.
His fingers, stroking her waist, moved lower to cup her full buttocks. They were still cool. He squeezed the soft, plump flesh in his hands. The sensation was beyond expectation. After kneading them several times, his hand finally moved to the valley between her thighs.
His long fingers probed the tender flesh. A wet, soft sensation met his fingertips. Deeper, his fingers boldly parted her inner folds. Unlike her cold, dry exterior, her depths were moist.
"Hn... ah..."
"Hah..."
Her breathing had changed. He could feel it clearly.
"Open your eyes now."
He bit her ear, speaking softly. He had sensed her returning tension for a while now.
He stirred his fingers inside her.
"Hng..."
She arched her back like a bow, a moan escaping her.
"Your body was so cold."
His fingers traced her waist.
"I felt like I was holding a corpse."
His hand slipped lower, stroking sensitive flesh.
"But inside here... you're different."
Saying that, he moved his fingers again. He reached deeper, stirring her depths. His thumb found and rubbed the sensitive bud. The quicker his movements, the more her breathing became ragged.
"Like an animal."
A pleased chuckle escaped him. Arishte clung to him, gasping. An instinctive craving for the only warmth she could hold. Something in her mind screamed danger, but she had no room to hear it. Only the man who could breathe life into her. Only that thought filled her.
"What do you want?"
He asked, pressing his forehead to hers. Her eyes were unfocused.
"......"
At his question, she blinked. Through her blurry vision, she only saw a hazy shape.
Cold.
It was the only thought, stronger than any other. She had wandered in the snow too long. She had been shot at, chased by men no different from human hunters, nearly died before the wolf.
"Cold... so cold..."
She wanted no more cold. The only one who could share warmth. The man whose face she could barely see was her only salvation, and Arishte willingly burrowed into his embrace.
"What's your name?"
Watching her press against him, his lips curved.
"Ah... hah..."
In answer, only pained, thin moans. To him, they sounded like a trapped beast's final cries.
Yes, more. He laughed at her agonized sounds.
"Hm? Your name."
He urged gently, stroking her wet folds.
"Nn... hah... Ari... shte."
"Arishte?"
He caught the name, mingled with moans, and smiled. His movements quickened. The fingers teasing her entrance increased, stirring deeper inside.
"Nn, ah."
Even half-conscious, her body responded readily. He was pleased by how it clenched around his fingers. Clear fluid flowed, wetting his fingers, stretching thin. Her trembling form pressed closer, not wanting to let go.
Now she was rubbing against his unmoving fingers. With each deep, heated breath that tickled his face, he opened and closed his eyes slowly.
She wasn't the only one feeling the heat. His erection, painfully full, rubbed against her. He was about to press against her wet entrance when—
"......"
He gazed at her face. Though she responded sensitively to his touch, her eyes remained closed. Flushed cheeks, irregular gasps, sweat on her brow and neck...
The trembling of her closed eyelids captivated him. He wanted to see those eyes open.
Instead of entering her, he slid his erection between her thighs.
"Ngh..."
She frowned at the unfamiliar sensation, moaning. As he rubbed his hardness against her, her sounds grew more intense. His slow rhythm quickened. The wet sound of his shaft between her thighs cut through the silence.
As her moans reached their peak, he pulled back and spent himself. Watching the semen spread over her lower belly, his smile deepened. After ejaculating, his erection was still hard. He placed it again between her thighs.
He pulled her hips close, burying his face in her golden hair, breathing deep. The fire crackled.
***
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