My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 480

Sera

"A little wolf-whelp hiding in the corner? Too bad daddy isn't here to save you, eh?" he sneered, as the basket fell away.

Torchlight seared her eyes. Runa blinked, tears streaming down her face. A calloused hand clamped around her ankle, fingers biting deep.

"Mama!" she shouted. "Mama, no!" Her free foot lashed out desperately but found only empty air.

"Papa, help me!" The grip tightened, and she was dragged out, her back scraping painfully against the rough boards.

"Let go of me!" she screamed as she was pulled farther and farther from the trunk's meager shelter.

"Mama, Papa!" Her pleas only faded into desperate whimpers as she thrashed uselessly.

She clawed desperately at the floor, at the trunk, at anything to stop this, but her fingers found no purchase. The hand on her ankle pulled again and she tumbled forward onto her face. Her palms burned as they slid over the blood-soaked wood. She kicked and struggled but it made no difference.

She was dragged past the trunk...past the sprawled pale shape of her mother, her amber eyes open and staring. She reached for her but her arms were wrenched back. She was pulled, dragged through the blood...her father's blood...through the pieces of him. She was soaked in it now, red and sticky and warm. The men watched and laughed. I could feel the air of their cruelty, could smell it on them.

There was a pause, her father's blood cooling on her skin. She was on the floor now, in the middle of the room. A circle of men surrounded her, their torches casting wild shadows on the walls. She twisted, looking behind her.

The leader stood there, a single torch in his hand, the light playing over his hard face, his dark beard. He wasn't looking at her. His eyes were on the furs, the skins, the few pitiful things the family owned. I felt the fear rise up in the girl's chest, the tightness of it, the coldness. I felt her heart beating wildly in her ribcage, the blood roaring in her ears. Her breathing was high and fast, her mouth dry, her tongue thick.

He crouched suddenly in front of her, one hand on her chin, turning her face to the light, first one side then the other. "Good," he said, and let go. He was looking at her teeth, pulling her lip down with his thumb as if checking a horse.

She stared at him, frozen, the scream still in her throat, the sobs coming hard and fast. He squeezed her upper arm, testing the muscle, and released her again. The girl gasped, her arm throbbing. They were moving behind him, men and wolves, the firelight flickering on the walls. She could hear the others in the yard, the sounds of destruction, of things being thrown, of voices shouting. But here, in the house, it was cold and quiet.

"She's young," a man's voice said from the shadows behind the leader. "Twelve?"

The leader made a sound. "Maybe. Thirteen," he said. The man grunted. "But look at the muscle. Strong."

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