A Centaur's Love 01

Hey guys! I know I left you hanging with Healed by the Wolf, but I swear I have a valid excuse. My old laptop completely crashed, taking the next ten thousand or so words I had written with it.

I'm much better at making backups now.

I really do hope to finish Vera and Killian's story someday, but for now, meet Lena and Throntir! I have about half of their story finished and I'm going to probably update weekly, as I like to see your guys' feedback before I move on sometimes. But if I feel good, I'll post more often!

Thanks for reading!

P.S. This isn't a quickie.

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Lena stumbled through the underbrush, her bare feet scraping across the rocky earth with each painful step. Her gown was in tatters. Once a lovely green with golden stitching down the sides, the expensive piece of finery had not held up well over the last three days.

Just a bit further. Just a bit more. Those were the words that had been constantly playing in her head as she pressed on. But to what end? She had no destination in mind, nor had she packed anything to take with her. The torn and filthy dress she wore was the only thing in her possession.

She could still hear the sound of the whip slashing through the air before making contact with her skin. Even as the whip lit her skin alight, the sound of Adrian's laughter at her screams managed to send chills down her spine. He loved seeing others in pain, as a true son of house Redmane would.

It was said that house Redmane earned their name, not from the fiery color of their hair, but the blood that would spill down their backs as prisoners were tortured mercilessly. Theirs was a history of blood and cruelty.

Her own family, the Caerlights shared a long and bloody history of their own with them. After centuries of hatred and skirmishes between the houses, her father had settled a tentative peace. She, as the eldest daughter, was to marry the eldest son, thus uniting the houses. While it seemed a joyous occasion, it was anything but for her.

She thought back to the night she discovered she'd been sold off to the Redmanes. It had been a grand dinner, her house and the smallfolk gathering together to celebrate their newfound peace. She could still remember Garrett's gorgeous face as he asked her to dance. Though she was quite fond of him, and him of her, it wasn't to be. As the eldest daughter of her house, she knew she would likely be paired off with a husband from another house of equal ranking—and Garrett was merely a steward for her father's knights.

Never in her life had she thought that she would be married off to a man as mad and cruel as Adrian Redmane.

Well, technically, they weren't married yet. Preparations were still being made for the wedding, but the weeks after she'd been shipped off to the Redmanes had been the worst of her life. Her fiancé had treated her courteously enough while her father's envoy was still with her, but the moment she was on her own his true colors were shown.

The most recent of his teachings, as he liked to call his torture sessions, had been in response to her silence. She had refused to cry out when he had forced himself into her ass, instead choosing to dig her teeth into her lips hard enough to draw blood. Adrian liked it when she was in pain, and liked the sound of her screams even more. Since she hadn't offered him any when he was pleasuring himself with her body, he had decided to whip her. Whether her screams were due to the pain of five lashes against her back, or from the pain of his dry cock up her ass he cared not.

Three days before, she'd been sitting out in the gardens, enjoying the sun on her ivory skin and the slight summer breeze, trying to forget about the healing wounds on her backside. Her maid had ushered off to bring her a drink, but had yet to return. Movement caught the edge of her gaze, pulling her attention to the edge of the woods. She had glanced around, searching for any sign of a guard. When she saw none, she snuck off to investigate.

She hurriedly reached the edge of the woods, searching for whatever small animal may have crossed her vision. Silence her only discovery, she glanced back over her shoulder at the looming manor. Beautiful as it was, it was no better than prison. With a grimace, she turned back towards the dense foliage before her and dared to venture further into the woods.

It was always her intention to return after a moment or two, she had nowhere else to go, after all. But one moment turned into another, then another, and then another. Before she knew it, the sun had disappeared into the trees and her feet were flying over the craggy earth beneath her.

I should go back.

He's going to be furious if I don't return soon.

He'll find me.

How she had even managed to slip away was a mystery to her. She hadn't been left alone for days. If she were alone, she was locked in her room, usually stuck waiting for one of Adrian's nightly visits. Perhaps the guard had wandered off believing her too weak from her injuries to flee, or not quite that stupid. She hadn't spent a day in the woods, or own her own in general. As the daughter of a powerful lord, she had always been well taken care of. She didn't know anything about survival. She didn't know to hunt, how to find clean water, how to build shelter...

Despite the rational thoughts plundering her mind, she had kept running. She wouldn't go back. She couldn't. She couldn't marry that demon of a man, even if it was for her family. She would rather die.

And after nearly three days of near non-stop movement, Lena nearly felt ready to die. She had lost her shoes in an unfortunate incident with a beaver near a creek earlier in her journey. Though, they likely would have done her little good after so many days in the woods, anyways. It was only her by her will that she was still standing.

Well, that was until she pushed through a layer of underbrush that led to a clearing. A gasp lodged itself in her throat, her knees giving out at the incomprehensible sight before her. She stumbled to the ground, her knees scraping against the rough ground as she slid to a halt.

Her eyes fell to the ground, startled by hooves stomping right before her face. She urged her body to move, but she was frozen as her eyes slowly trailed up the horse's legs before her.

There was a man—but he wasn't a man. Right where the neck of the horse should have begun, was the strong torso of a man. Chestnut fur melded into olive skin with rippling muscle underneath. Without her consent, her eyes continued their upwards journey on their own. Her gaze reached a face that clearly belonged to a man. His eyes were wide with surprise, but quickly narrowed as he pulled his bow from over his shoulder, only hints of green peeking out between thick lashes. His hair was dark and shoulder length, half of it tied back to keep the strands out of his face. His strong jaw was covered in thick, but short and neatly trimmed facial hair that led down over his lip and chin, leaving his cheeks bare. His shoulders were wide, the widest she'd ever seen on man. Surely no creature could have such a large and commanding presence?

Centaur.

Centaurs were a myth. They didn't exist! But here he was—a living, breathing half-horse, half-man hovering overhead—and it looked ready to trample her, if it didn't put an arrow in her first.

"Hello," she managed to offer through cracked lips. Surely, she was so exhausted she was hallucinating. The centaur's gaze lay unchanged as her eyes fluttered shut and she collapsed onto the ground.

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Throntir stood above the collapsed human girl, gaze narrowed suspiciously. He drew back his bow, an arrow notched and ready to fly at the first sign of another human. Human women didn't travel alone—there were always men with them. Men with weapons and a penchant for slaying unsuspecting centaurs. He scowled at the thought. He waited several minutes, his pointed ears listening for any hint of another human.

When no other came, his gaze fell back to the girl at his hooves. He looked to her chest, seeing the slow rise and fall that indicated she was still breathing. At least he hadn't frightened her to death.

What was a weak little thing like her doing so far out in the forest? If she wasn't alone, then her party wasn't anywhere nearby. Humans rarely traveled this far, knowing the dangers of coming so close to centaur territory. Humans knew to avoid them, or risk facing their wrath. They were skilled warriors, and would take few chances when it came to the safety of the herd.

The logical thing to do would be to leave her where she had fallen, or even smarter yet, put an arrow in her chest, but he couldn't help but kneel to get a closer look. Her gown was ragged—torn to nearly beyond repair. She was covered in dirt and sweat, her light hair knotted.

He scowled. What in the gods' names had this little human been up to? His gaze traveled down her body, lingering at her breasts for just a moment too long. His cock at the juncture of his waist twitched, threatening to harden and reveal itself from the tufts of hair that normally kept it concealed. He shook his head and continued his inspection. The exposed parts of her legs were covered in small bruises and cuts, one particularly large one trailing up under the hem of her gown. Her feet were bare, and covered in just as many wounds.

Odd, he thought to himself. For a human, he added silently. They wore coverings over their feet to protect the weak skin there, didn't they? They didn't have strong hooves like the centaurs did. Their feet were weak, and needed to be protected from every little thing, it seemed.

He willed himself to stand and walk away. This wasn't his mess. Surely, she would wake soon and continue on her way, which was hopefully away from the herd. He eyed her wounds and shredded gown once more, giving a great sigh. Clearly, she wasn't out in the forest, alone, by choice. She was probably lost, as humans often became. Foolish girl.

Throntir battled with himself for a moment longer before letting out a heavy groan, followed by a curse. He couldn't just leave a defenseless woman out in the woods—even if she was a human. She would certainly end up a meal for the wolves if he were to leave her. Or he risked having her stumble onto the herd. He had no idea what this girl was like, if she found the herd, she might very well put them all at risk, and he couldn't allow that.

He pulled his bow over his shoulder, the string crossing his muscled chest. He gathered the limp human girl in his arms, muscles hardly straining as if she weighed no more than a few logs meant for a fire. She was a tiny thing, much too tiny to be alone out in the woods. Whatever was she doing out here?

Standing, he gave one last glance over his shoulder towards the direction she had come from. Catching sight of nothing but trees and bushes bristling against the light summer breeze, he headed back for his camp.