Amidst the noise and the dim glow of campfires, her gaze settled on a solitary figure, standing apart from the other Greeks. Unlike the boisterous soldiers who had tried to get her attention, this man radiated a silent, strong presence. He was dressed in the unmistakable armor of a Spartan.
He stood alone, framed by the roar of the forest fire. The flames licked the sky with hungry tongues, casting a pulsating orange glow on his figure, but he didn't flinch. His eyes, icy blue and piercing, were locked onto something hidden in the chaos of burning woods. His mouth was obscured by a rough cloth, but there was no mistaking the cold intensity in his gaze.
Aisha couldn't tear her eyes away. He felt it, she could tell. His attention shifted. Slowly, he raised his head and their eyes met, icy blue against the dark brown of hers. The world around her seemed to still, her breath caught in her throat. A heat stirred in her chest, something she couldn't explain—was it the fire's reflection in his gaze, or something deeper, darker, pulling her in?
He held her gaze for only a second longer, then turned his back as if uninterested, walking away into the heat haze, leaving her in a moment of quiet confusion. What was it about him?
Before she could gather her thoughts, rough hands grabbed her. Her arms were seized from both sides, the sharp bite of calloused fingers digging into her skin. She twisted her head around, heart racing, to find three men leering at her, their faces twisted with ugly grins. Their clothes were stained with the grime and sweat of battle, their breath sour as it hit her face.
"Wh..what are you?" she hissed, glaring at them, eyes flashing with defiance.
"You're coming with us, woman," one growled, his voice thick with lust. He grinned wider, enjoying her expression.
"Let me go." She said coldly.
They didn't bother to respond. One of them slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling her protest as they dragged her across the camp. She struggled, kicking and thrashing, but their grip was iron, and her strength meant nothing against their sheer size. Within moments, they had forced her into a tent, tossing her roughly to the ground like a trophy claimed after a long hunt.
Aisha hit the floor with a grunt, quickly spinning around to face them, her hand instinctively reaching for her blade—but before she could draw it, a shadow loomed over her.
A massive hand shot out, wrapping around her throat with the force of a vice, lifting her clear off her feet. Her eyes widened in shock as she was pulled up, her body dangling in the air as she clawed at the hand gripping her neck.
She quickly saw the identity of the man.
"Save some for us, will ya?"
Ajax's men jeered, their voices thick with lust. They were already imagining the ways they'd use her, already hungry for the spoils of their king's conquest.
Ajax threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming sound that made the tent walls shudder. "Gahahaha! Maybe when I'm done with her! If she's not broke by then!" His eyes, blazing with lust and cruelty, turned back to Aisha as he towered over her, the smirk on his face widening. "But I doubt she'll last that long."
His men backed out of the tent, closing it behind them, the sound of their laughter fading into the night.
With his free hand, Ajax gripped the front of her armor, his fingers curling around the leather and metal like it was nothing more than paper. He pulled hard, ripping it apart with a brutal strength, the sound of tearing fabric and snapping straps filling the air.
Now only the white cloth a bit torn was visible showing a glimpse of her cleavage making Ajax's narrowing further in excitement.
Ajax's smirk widened as his fingers dug into Aisha's soft cheeks, twisting her face up towards him. Her beauty, even in distress, captivated him. "What a face you have," he growled, voice dripping with lust. He leaned in close, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. "I'll fuck you all night. Scream as loud as you want, no one will come.
They'll just think I'm breaking in another one of my rewards."
The camp outside was filled with men who'd done just that—conquered and claimed. Women's screams had long since lost any meaning, reduced to background noise in the victory of war. Ajax's tent was no different. To anyone who passed by, it was just another conquest, another woman to be used.
His impatience grew, his hand sliding lower to the waistband of his loose skirt, fingers curling around the fabric. His cock, hard and throbbing, strained against the cloth, eager to claim the woman beneath him. But just as he moved to free himself, something cold and sharp pressed against his neck, freezing him mid-motion.
The blade's icy tip bit into his skin, a chill crawling up his spine.
"Move, and I'll pierce your throat."