Chapter 126: Ruth’s Playful Bite
Tusk’s smile was like a terrible wound that ruined his face, a mess of yellowed teeth and unseeing, dripping faith. "Thanks, Dexter...," he said, his voice breaking, thick with the relief of a man who had just been saved from the executioner’s block.
"Kina will be so happy—she will stop at last—she won’t stop nagging me about—about how I can’t make her—" His words were thrown, mixed up with his own dishonourment.
I wasn’t paying attention.
His thanking me was just sound. His terror? Of no use. The only thing that counted was the slow, dense throb of expectancy running through my veins, the fire wrapping up from the belly like a snake ready for assault.
The sun was getting under the trees, changing the forest into a slaughterhouse of the sun—amber and crimson, the same colors as the dying breath of a fresh kill.
I looked at the world map, my fingers hovering like a god over the flashing dots that indicated fates yet to be decided.
Ravina’s position wasn’t there.
Fuck.
I’d forgotten to mark them.
A rare oversight.
One that could have cost me everything.
But then—
Agatha’s position flared.
200 meters.
And beyond her, other red dots, scattered like blood drops in the opposite direction.
Kerry. Kina. Hina. Vera.
500 meters.
My fingers twitched.
My pulse steadied, slow and deliberate, like the cock of a crossbow.
Almost time.
I halted mid-stride. "Wait. I need to piss." Mitt barely glanced up, already turning away. "Don’t take all day—" But I was gone, slipping between the trees like smoke. Five stones, stacked in a crude pyramid. A signal for Ravina to stop here.
"Aunt Ravina."
Her name left my lips like a curse, a command, a knife dragged across stone. The earpiece hissed with static, the dark swallowing my voice before it reached her—but it would reach her. It always did.
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Yes—? Dexter...? Is that you?"
Her voice wavered, just for a second. Not fear. Disbelief. Like she couldn’t decide if she was hearing a ghost or a god.
"Wait, where I marked the stones. Five of them. You’ll know the place." No warmth. No patience. Just the cold weight of an order.
I didn’t need to explain. She knew.
The static crackled, thick with her breath. Then—
"As you order... King."
The shift in her voice was delicious. Dexter to King in the span of a heartbeat. Obedience, molded by my will.
But she wasn’t done.
"And if someone finds us?" A murmur, soft as a threat. There was steel beneath it. A challenge, wrapped in submission.
I exhaled, slow and deliberate, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make her wonder.
Then—
"Then you make sure"—my voice dropped, low and lethal—" they regret it."
A pause.
A laugh, dark and velvet, slithered through the earpiece. Not nervous. Not forced.
Hungry.
"As you wish."
I then went back to Mitt and others. We later came back to the tribe. The camp of the tribe was a storm of shouts, laughter, the banging of spears on wood, the smell of roasting meat, and unwashed bodies. Energy was in the air, the sort of wild, disordered relief that one feels when the predator is back in the den.
"Dexter has come back!"
The words went straight through the crowd like the crack of a whip, the faces turning to me, eyes staring into mine with a feeling that was almost worship and terror at the same time.
I felt Ravina’s voice in my ear, soft and deadly, a secret only for me.
"King." A pause. The sound of rustling leaves, the distant snap of a twig. "We have found the location you marked. The ground is good. The trees are thick. We can stay here temporarily."
"Good."
The word was slipping out of my mouth like a serpent uncoiling, smooth and deadly. My voice did not go far—it was a whisper, a hiss only for her, the night, and the hungry static that was in my earpiece. "Wait for me. After sunset."
"We will stay here." One more moment. "Waiting for your order." Ravina’s voice was still ringing in my ear.
I suddenly saw someone running over here.
Ruth.
Her hair? Wild, honestly—like a thunderstorm crashing through the middle of all this grime and sweat. She barreled straight for me, lungs working overtime, eyes glued to mine like I was the villain in her tragic little movie.
And she slammed into me like she was auditioning for Wrecking Ball duty. Knocked the wind clean out of me—no warning, just bam.
Suddenly, she’s got her arms locked around my neck, legs coiled tight around my waist. I swear, if she let go, maybe she’d just fall apart right there. The hit shoved me back a step, but weirdly enough, I stayed on my feet.
"Don’t you ever—" Her voice was a snarl, her teeth sinking into my shoulder. I didn’t feel pain. +500 (Lips.)
She was everywhere. Her tits mashed against my chest, the weight of them suffocating, perfect. I could feel the heat of her skin, the way her heart hammered like a trapped bird. +2000 (Tits. 1000 each.)
Her thighs squeezed my hips, her skirt riding up, the leaf skirt bunching around her waist. The tribe’s cheers turned feral, a pack of wolves scenting blood. I didn’t stop them. Let them see.
My hands found her ass—finally. The flesh was scorching under my palms, the muscles flexing as she ground herself against me, desperate. I squeezed, fingers digging in just enough to leave marks. She gasped, her back arching, pressing her tits harder into my chest. "Dexter—" Her voice was a whine, a plea.
I slapped her left cheek—crack—the sound sharp in the sudden silence. The tribe inhales. Ruth moaned. +500 (Left asscheek.) Then the right. Harder. Her skin jiggled under the force, the imprint of my hand blooming red. +500 (Right asscheek.)
’’Down.’’ The term was a low growl, a sensation that was felt through my chest. She wavered—only for a moment—her claws, a.k.a. nails, tearing into my shoulders. After that, she undressed me with her hands, slow, methodical, her tits rubbing against mine all the way. The friction was pure agony.
She grabbed me as if she were still in free fall the moment her feet landed. With her forehead against my chest and breathing all uneven - a bit desperate, really. The entire crowd, large and loud, was there, but I only felt her hands that were tearing into me and trembling so much.
I ran my fingers through her hair, yanked her head back, only enough to see her neck - red, gentle, and her heartbeat racing like it was asking to be released.
I leaned in, close enough she could taste the promise: "After Tonight," I murmured, "You’re not walking straight for a week." Her mouth parted, her eyes basically sparking. The tribe? Hanging on every second. Me? I just grinned, couldn’t help it.