Lunation of Fate

Chastine was about to be killed as tribute.

Bound in a prison cell, her flesh and blood was going to be offered to the god of the werewolves in the morning.

After being experimented on for their self-serving motives, her final day ends on the tribute stone to be slaughtered and eaten.

The wolf god prefers a vestal offering for this ritual and she fits the bill.

And there she was in chains, as her hope for survival dissipates. All she wanted was to be a free human since that was what she hadn’t achieved in her waking life. But cruel fate just won’t let her have it.

A chinking sound of bolt and hinge being unfastened was heard within Chastine’s earshot. The noise echoed within the chambers of the underground jail. It seems to be that someone had opened the main gate of the dank and dreary slammer.

A pair of footsteps drew nearer towards Chastine’s cell. Louder had those footsteps became, then it halted in front of the gated side of her room. She saw the pair belong to a male fellhound, a human tainted with the curse of the wolf-god.

“Are you the witborn from the watchtower?” The man inquired of her origin. She saw the man to be brawny, but the man didn’t seem to be hairy like what they say of his kind. Chastine didn’t utter a word.

There was a moment of silence before the man say another string of words. But Chastine just couldn’t bring into herself to have a little chit-chat with the male stranger. In her mind it was futile to have a conversation with one of her captors as she is going to die soon by their hands.

But the male werewolf just wouldn’t give up to strike a conversation with her. He somehow had an idea on what was going on inside Chastine’s mind: that is, to break free from her chains.

The man smirked a little and revealed to her the motive of his visit, “what if told you that you can get out of here alive?”Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Chastine’s face suddenly lit after hearing that hopeful statement. She recognized that his words had a serious, I’m-not-kidding tone. She responded by standing up, the chains on her hands and feet noisily clunking as she approached him at a good distance, her face finally catching some light beams revealing her face.

“Ah,” the fellhound was amused and smiled at the sight of Chastine’s face, “so this is what you look like. They must’ve prepared you for the feast in the morning. Beautiful.”

She could see in his eyes that he was indeed pleasantly surprised at seeing her physique.

Chastine was bathed and groomed. Her dark brown hair was half tied, with the tie loosely braided in an aesthetic fashion. They have also clothed her with a white flowy long gown that plunges down to her buckle-less belt sitting low on her waist. If you’d put a crown of flowers on her head, she would look like a bridesmaid in a wedding ceremony.

Chastine rarely hears sincere flattery. One might think it’ll lighten up the mood but her serious mood just wouldn’t change. She felt more determined at hearing the next line the man will spew out. Whatever he’ll say next was her ticket to getting out of the turf of the fellhounds.

“What do I need to do?” Chastine muttered with a determined look on her face, the inner tip of her brows almost meeting at the middle. She’ll do whatever it takes just to set herself free from her current chains.

“So now you’re interested. Good. Your escape will depend on your answers from my questions.”

Chastine inhaled and exhaled deeply, readying herself from the questions that would keep her alive. “Ask away,” she carefully but calmly retorted.

“What’s your name?” the man asked casually.

Her answer was abrupt, “Chastine.”

“No family name, even before you were enslaved?” The fellhound then arched one of his brows out of curiosity.

“None that I know of,” replied Chastine, “I was orphaned at five.”

“Hmm-k… How old are you?”

What the hell are these questions? Chastine thought to herself, but she answered them nonetheless. “18.”

“Nice,” the fellhound’s lips upturned as if pleased with her answer. “Who was with you at the Dianium watchtower?”

“My then master. Why is this relevant?” Chastine was becoming confused at these basic questions. She felt like she was going to fill up a form for a job offer.

“Was he the one who taught you witborn skills, tinkering gears and all?” The strange fellhound maneuvered his hands in the air, as if tinkering an invisible tiny music box.

“Yes,” Chastine proudly said, “but I learned some things on my own.”

“Hmm, what are those things?” The man squinted his eyes.

“Uhm,” she paused, hesitating to answer, but answered it nonetheless, “…picking locks.”

“So they say. You’re one feisty escapist.” The young fellhound, about the same age as Chastine, had a smug look on his face and began teasing her, “ha, but isn’t it ironic now?”

Chastine was challenged and she was up for it. “Give me a needle and I’ll prove it to you.”

“So you like poetry?” the young man changed the subject back to questioning her.

She was surprised that he knew. “Why, yes. Reading them keeps me sane.”

“And writing. Seems to me you’re making them, right on the walls,” the amused fellhound saw Chastine’s scribblings on her cell’s wall, inked from lichens growing along its tiny cracks.

She glanced at what she has made and apologized to the curious fellow, “err, sorry.”

“Heh. You know, Chastine, you’re quite resourceful.”

She was confused at what to say, “uhm, thank you?”

“And smart, and talented. Other than that you also have your own charm, but that’s just a bonus.”

“Bonus? For what exactly?” Chastine was astonished.

The man replied with enthusiasm, “I would like to make an offer to you.”

Chastine’s chains clunked as she walked nearer towards the male fellhound. “What’s your offer?”

“Hearing and seeing your skills, you could be of use to me. But first, we have to get rid of your usefulness to the tribe.”

“How?”

Gathering all sense and confidence, the man closed his eyes, then he opened and directly stared at Chastine’s. He then calmly retorted, “have sex with me, Chastine.”

Chastine couldn’t believe what she just heard. Confused, her eyes widened while her brows met at the middle. Her jaw gapped. “W-what the-”

“The wolf dog prefers virgins. Hah, seeing your reaction it must be quite true. You need your maidenhood torn to make you a useless tribute, Chastine. Think about it.”

While what the man proposed was logical, it was a matter of ethical dilemma for Chastine. She was indeed a slave since she was brought her to her first master, but she was marketed to be vestal to keep her worth high. Master after master, they had respected that idea. Until she met this fellhound.

But she was carefully weighing in on the risks. “What happens if I reject your offer?”

“Come morning, you’ll be offered on the tribute stone. They will do a ritual and you’ll be chopped to bits. Then–*ehem*-my men will chomp on your flesh and collect your blood for further experiments.”

“…and if I accept?” Chastine weakly asked.

The man smirked. “We f*ck, I get what I need, you escape unbitten, you live and freely. You’ll have the time of your life.”

Chastine knew the better option, but she was still gauging at further risks. This sex for survival has taken on a new meaning to her. Seeing that this will be her first time and to a fellhound, she began to feel grossed out but nervous.

She knows that fellhounds want to keep their bloodline pure. If she would bore a child to this fellhound, she will be killed nonetheless.

Whichever option she chooses, her life will be on the line.

The man, who seems to be growing impatient at Chastine’s answer, finally gave her an ultimatum, “well, clock’s ticking, what say you?”

Even with the complicated situation at hand, Chastine’s sharp sense was still working. She needed to ensure that she’d still be alive after their copulation. “How can I trust you to keep me alive?”

The young man’s face turned proud and serious at what he said next, “we fellhounds keep our promise. You have my word. I’ll protect you.”

“What’s your name, by the way?” she asked as she decided to strike a deal with the fellhound.

“Call me Juste.”

Chastine gave her answer to Juste. His face brightly lit at what he heard.