For years, she had been taught to never fear anything. Fear was a weakness, a sin, and as such was something to be conquered. She didn't want to admit it, but laying here in a dimly-lit dungeon of a room, chained to a table, and at the complete mercy of a cruel man that she had tried--and failed--to kill, left her courage in shambles. Someone would undoubtedly be sent to find her if she did not return within the next few days, her tribe did not abandon its members if it was at all possible. They would send an older, more experienced warrior, and he or she would follow Briar's path until they came across the sorcerer's hut. Maybe they would watch the sorcerer from afar for a few days, learning of his habits before attempting to ambush him while he was at his weakest; or maybe they would do what Briar had done and wildly burst into the hut, relying on the element of surprise to complete the job.
Either way, Briar knew that they would be too late.
She heaved a sigh or relief as his finger was withdrawn from her vagina, only to have her blood run cold when he climbed on top of her, positioned at the perfect angle to bring her worst fears to life at a moment's notice. Rather, seeming to take great pleasure in her suffering, he grabbed her breasts and started suckling at her nipple. A low, feral growl of disgust fled her throat then, and she wanted to beg him to stop and let her go, but her pride was too great.
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