Selling Myself To The Hunter

Chapter 9

Dahlia

"I'll help you out of this mess," The Hunter said, waving his hand at me. "In exchange for a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"To be decided later on." His eyes gleamed in a predatory way.

A dangerous deal...but I didn't have very many options. In fact, I was certain I only had two options; accept his help and live, or sit here and either starve or be eaten by something.

"The longer those thorns are in, the longer it will take before you are walking again." He warned.

"Fine. Fine." I huffed, the numbness spreading up my back. "To be clear, you will get me out of this bush and in exchange I will owe you a favor."

"Don't be ignorant." His eyes flashed with warning. Sensing my confusion, he growled and continued. "Be specific."

"I thought I was-"

"I agree to help you out of this bush, right now, and then take you back to my camp and remove each and every one of those troublesome thorns, and in exchange you will owe me a favor, to be decided and fulfilled when I choose, on the condition that they favor will not cause any harm to you or exceed your means." He said, a muscle flexing in his neck. He held his hand out to me. "Do we have a deal?"

I tentatively extended my hand, my fingers still numb, my pride slightly wounded. "Deal."

His hand wrapped around mine and my arm began to tingle. To my disbelief, ink began to form and take shape on my upper arm. It consisted of two bands that intersected, forming what looked like tiny infinity signs. A quick glance at The Hunter told me he had a similar one in the same spot, though his was made of thicker bands and more masculine looking.

"The ink will disappear when our deal is complete." He explained. "So don't get too attached."

I had dozens of questions to ask, but before I could voice a single one, The Hunter was carefully hoisting me up, giving himself a wide berth from the bush that took me down. He was far more gentile with me than I expected given his general disposition and thick muscles. But then, to my horror, he threw me over his shoulder.

"I thought you said you were going to take the thorns out?" I asked as he readjusted me to a better angle, his arm wrapping around my thorn free calves.

"I said I would when we got back to my camp. Pay more attention to the deal you are making next time."

"Well... well where is your camp?" I frowned as he squatted down and picked up his bag, effortlessly slinging it over his shoulder as if he weren't also balancing me.

"This way, about an hour." He said, flicking his head.

"That puts me further away from the center."

"Consider yourself lucky."

"I need to find Toby-"

"You need to be able to walk first. And perhaps learn a thing or two about surviving here."

I was about to argue back, but he was right. And since he seemed to know what he was doing...

"What do you know about this place?" I asked.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

- - - - - - - -

Hunter

"Seraphina created this fabricated world about fifty years ago." I began, struggling to keep my breathing even as I took in heady amounts of her wildflower scent. She had no idea - not a single clue - what she meant to me. What her scent was doing to me, her touch. It was comical really.

What made it worse is that she would never know, could never know. No one could. That information could only be used against me, against her. These moments, however few they might be, were all I would ever allow myself. I would help her and then point her in that shitty sounding boyfriend's direction and hope for the best for her. Even if it killed me to do so.

"Chris said it was bad to say her name, that it would summon her, yet you use her name often. Why?" Dahlia cut in.

Because calling her a spiteful b***h doesn't even begin to cover it.

Because I refuse to give her the sick satisfaction of believing I fear her.

Because maybe one day one of my pleas to the gods would be answered, and she would be struck down where she stands.

"Seraphina is a high fae, she has gifts that this world has not seen or heard of. Her gift is that of knowledge. Her knowledge lies in the written and spoken word. She uses it against people, so be careful what you write down, be careful what you say out loud. As far as I know, saying her name won't summon her, nor will it grab her attention. If it did, I would see her far more often given the number of times I curse her in a day." I sighed heavily before getting back on track. "This world, 'The Other World', has three biomes. The jungle, the desert, and winter. In the center is where Seraphina resides. All are biomes awful, though the center has a special brand of cruelty."

"That's where you think Toby is?"

"Is he attractive?"

"Well, yeah, I mean I think so." She said, her tone changing to that of a teenage girl.

"Then yes, he is definitely there." I said, my jaw clenching. "Seraphina has a taste for attractive beings."

"... For what purpose?" Dahlia hesitantly asked.

"I'll leave that to your imagination."

Dahlia stiffened in my arms.

"Do... do you speak from experience?" She asked softly.

Too much. I was telling her too much already. It was practically suicide bringing her back to my camp even for a few days. The less that was said, the better. If Seraphina found out...

I shook my head trying to clear the memories and ignored Dahlia's question, walking in silence the remainder of the way.

- - - - - - - -

Dahlia

I hit a nerve. I knew I did from his sullen silence and stiff posture. And since I wasn't stupid enough to push him - a stranger who agreed to help me - further, I limply hung over The Hunters shoulder as he hauled me to his camp.

It was not what I expected.

I truthfully don't know what I was expecting, but from the way Chris described him, and from the way I saw my captors tremble in his presence, the way he slayed the Duendes... his camp lacked luster by comparison.

In the middle of the small clearing, he called camp was a simple fire pit, with rocks that framed the outside of it and some embers piled up in the center. Next to it was a single stump of a log and just past that was a pile of firewood. There was some sort of makeshift shower to the left, which consisted of a bucket hung off a tree and a vine clothesline with a shirt and shorts dangling off of it. Between that and the fire pit was a small tent with what looked to be a sleeping bag that had seen better days. To the right of the fire pit was a makeshift wooden table stained with pink - perhaps where he butchered his food. Good, at least he has meat. Hopefully it wasn't human. Set further back was a small shack of a place, made with weathered slabs of wood and bark, which were barely holding together. An outhouse maybe? Hopefully?

The Hunter offered no explanation, no welcome, as his unwavering steps led us towards the far left of his camp, towards the makeshift shower. A log was there, tucked into the tree line. And it was there that he set me down onto my stomach, my legs still utterly useless.

"I'll just wait right here then." I said as The Hunter walked off, towards what I believed to be the outhouse, still ignoring me.

I took the chance to take a better look around, my expectations still vastly underwhelmed. From this angle, I could see a few trees that looked like they had seen better days. It looked like claw marks, or knife marks rather, were littering the trunk. Behind the tiny shack was a sizable crate. Perhaps that's where he kept everything else. There had to be more to his camp than this.

The Hunter came back a few minutes later, looking grimmer than ever. I couldn't help but feel responsible. His hands were filled with a plethora of supplies. Perhaps that shack was where he kept everything, not an outhouse then.

He kicked over a stump as if it were nothing more than a soccer ball, taking me by surprise. The stump rolled and landed next to me, and that's where he sat down and began spreading things out in front of me on the remaining room on the log. I couldn't help but notice the incredibly sterile-looking tools, gloves, towels, balms, wraps. I frowned at them, wondering how he would have access to such things when Chris was making spears out of rocks and sticks.

"The bad news is that the thorns have barbs on them. The good news is you won't feel any of this." The Hunter said, putting on the set of rubber gloves.

Was he trying to be funny?

"How many?" I asked, dreading this experience.

"Too many to count."

"Just make it quick." I groaned, dropping my head.

And then I heard cutting. I whipped my head back to see him cutting the seam of my pants from hip to ankle.

"What are you doing?!" I gasped.

"They need to come off. I need to be able to see what I'm doing. If I miss even one, you won't be walking for a while." He said, cutting up the other side next. "What did you expect?"

"Uh - my dignity to be in-tact!" I scoffed.

He paused, meeting my eyes. "You fell into a thorn bush."

I scowled at him and I swore his lips kicked up for half a second. There was no hesitation from him after that as he ripped away the fabric, leaving me bare. I felt my face heat with embarrassment as he intently stared at my backside.

"That took care of most of them." He mused, plopping back down onto the stump. He picked up a set of tweezers next and got right to work.

He was right, I didn't feel a thing. The only thing that hurt was my pride. But my pride was the only thing stripped away. The Hunter worked quickly and kept my dignity in tack, kept his hands and eyes and other parts respectable, much to my relief.

"My first week out here I was running from a group of Griffins who I had just very successfully pissed off." He said softly, plucking away. "I lost them, only to run right into one of those bushes."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"I laid there like a vegetable for nearly three days before the toxins wore off, and I was able to crawl out of there." He snorted. "It wasn't my finest moment." He was silent for a long minute before continuing again. "This place is designed to break people. If not physically, then mentally, or emotionally."

"Why?"

"It's how Seraphina wanted things. I'm guessing that's probably why she was banned from her world. Her cruelty is unmatched."

"How long have you been trapped here for?" I asked.

"Ten years."

"How? How have you survived here this long?" I asked in true disbelief, turning back to look at him.

"Dumb luck." He snorted.

"I highly doubt that. You must know something others don't... Chris told me there weren't many who lived past a year."

"Spite."

"Spite?"

"I won't give that wench the satisfaction of dying. My anger towards her is what keeps me going." He said, setting down the tweezers and picking up one of the towels. He splashed some water on it and made quick work of wiping away all the remaining paralytic, bandaged me up and then helped me dress into a pair of shorts. "You'll start to gain feeling by morning." He said, picking me up bridal style.

"Thank you." I said, as he carried me towards his tent.

"Don't thank me for anything. We made a deal. I just completed my end of it." He growled. I frowned as he laid me down, helping me onto my stomach on his makeshift bed.

"Did I do something to offend you-"

"I'm going out to find dinner." He said over his shoulder. "This camp is... guarded. Get some rest."

"Guarded by what?" I yelled.

But he didn't bother to answer. Or even look back.