Rescuing the Princess(es)

A thick blanket of fog covered the small town of Green Orchard, clearing the market of its usual bustle as people chose to instead spend their morning in the warm cosiness of their homes. If one were to peer out their window, however, they may have caught a glimpse of a red cloaked figure gliding through the fog, as several did.

“G’morning, Red, darlin’,” an old bird waved from her perch on a second-story window, which gave her a clear view of the markets below. “It’s a bit chilly for a morning walk, ‘ey?”

“Morning, ma'am!” a voice squeaked back, not the cloaked girl but her fairy companion. “Yes it is,” Saccharine said, with a tone suggesting that a period belonged at the end of the statement and no further conversation was to be had.

The crone frowned as Red, usually a chatty but charming girl, hurried along without having made a peep in reply. ‘Perhaps she’s feeling ill,’ she reasoned and thought no more on it.

Meanwhile, Saccharine sped to keep up with her partner, who hurried along the cobble path, red cloak fluttering behind. “Oi, slow down, cunt,” she scolded. “You’re gonna look suspicious if you’re scuttling about like that.”

John Newman sighed and slowed down to a walking pace, anxiously readjusting Red’s hood so that it covered his eyes.

“And for fuck’s sake, stop sweating, or you’re gonna stink of human,” the dessert fae continued, recasting the odour-enhancing spell on the cloak in an attempt to mask his scent with that of a warg’s. “I really hope this is enough,” she muttered as they began up the path towards the Perrault manor.

“You’re telling me,” John laughed nervously in reply. “Though we really lucked out with the fog.”

“Yeah, well, we can count our blessings if we succeed,” the fae replied, landing on his shoulder to rest her wings. “But for now, we can only hope we don’t run into the twenty-something wargs that Dipshit McAsshole left behind.”

“Won’t they smell Red and want to investigate?” John asked nervously.

“Are you stupid? Red lives here! Of course they’ll smell her, her scent’s all over the place,” Saccharine replied. “Which is why the cloak is theoretically a good camouflage…”

“Unless they see us,” John finished.

“Or hear us,” the dessert fairy added. “So shut up, we’re getting close.”

John would have liked to point out that she had been the one to initiate conversation, but tension kept his mouth shut. They snuck the rest of the way in total silence. Unfortunately, the manor was surrounded on all sides by orchard, meaning they’d have to bite the bullet and sneak through and just pray that they encountered no farmhand, or worse, a warg.

It seemed Lady Luck was looking out for them, however, as they managed to make it to the perimeter of the main estate without a hitch. Unfortunately, the fog was beginning to lighten, meaning they couldn’t rely on it for cover much longer. Hiding behind a particularly large bush, they peered out towards the front entrance. Two guards were positioned on the steps, chatting idly and warming their hands on what was probably tea.

“Well, looks like the front door is a no-go,” Saccharine whispered to John.

“Really? Who woulda thought they’d station guards at the front entrance?!” John hissed back. “There have to be other points of entry, right?”

The fae nodded and gestured for him to follow before zipping off along the tree line that fenced the estate. Being as small and quick as she was, Saccharine had an easy time creeping along the perimeter and ducking into cover when needed. John — not so much. It felt like every step he took snapped a twig or crunched on some leaves, causing him to wince every time. It was only thanks to his Sneaking skill that John didn’t totally thunder along and got them both caught.

Finally, they arrived on the backside of the estate, where a much larger garden presented an easier time of sneaking past. Metre tall hedges and several trees with thick trunks provided plenty of cover. There were also a small courtyard and large swimming pool that John had failed to see on his first visit, not that he planned on taking a dip any time soon. Like the front entrance, the back was guarded by two wargs.

“Wait here while I scout around for a bit,” the fae suggested. “I’ll see if I can get inside and open a window or something.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” John agreed. Her small size and ability to fly made her ideal for scouting and infiltration.

The fae topped him up, once again, on her scent masking spell, before flying off. The light buzz of her wings was swallowed almost instantly by the fog, leaving John feeling anxious and very alone as he waited.

Seconds turned into minutes.

It was a very cold morning. John held himself tightly, revelling in the warmth of Red’s cloak as it brushed against his goose-bump riddled skin. ‘C’mon, Saccha, where the fuck are you?’ John wondered peeking over the bush again to search for any signs of his fairy friend. There were none to be found.

He distracted himself by observing the large bush he hid behind. It was a rose bush. The vivid colour of its flowers stood out, to John, against the murky white curtain surrounding him. They reminded him of Moira a little, beautiful but prickly. ‘And now I’m thinking in cliches,’ John sighed and, realising he’d let himself get distracted, refocused his attention on his surroundings.

A breeze whipped at the hem of the hood, and his muscles complained as his body shivered in its huddled position. It really was a damn cold morning.

What was that? John was suddenly tense and alert.

Voices. Close. And drawing closer. ‘Shit,’ John hissed to himself as he scrambled into the rose bush, figuring the roses would help mask the distinct colour of his cloak, and winced when he pricked his thumb on a thorn. As the small wound drew blood, John prayed to Gaia and whoever else might listen that a thumb prick wouldn’t be the factor that caused him to get caught.

He didn’t have any time to alleviate the situation, however, as the voices came to a pause just a few feet from where John hid. He could only see their hard-leather boots and the sleeves of their trousers, but he counted two pairs in total. One pair of legs had a distinctive sway to their stance, and John heard the owner drinking some sort of liquid from a flask.

“Christ, Carl, it’s not even ten in the morning yet,” his partner bemoaned.

“Dun care,” the warg, whose name was apparently Carl, slurred back. “Daddy Perrault ‘aint ‘round to bite me.”

“Uh-huh, and what if someone snitches, ay?”

“Ya plannin’ on shnitching?” Carl asked curiously. It was clear he was drunk.

“‘Course not,” his fellow quickly replied.

“Then there’s nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” the drunk warg said assuredly. “‘Ay! I just ‘ad an idea!”

“Oh, great…”

“Lezz go find ‘em gals Daddy’s got locked up and ‘ave us a good time, ay? Waddaysay?”

“Goddammit, Carl. What the fock have you been guzzling?” his partner grimaced, snatching the flask from his friend and sniffed the contents. “Fuck me, is this an ‘omebrew? Cider and wolfsbane?”

“Aye, what of it?”

His partner let out a heavy sigh and hurled the flask of cider away. “You’re mad as a devil on crack. Need to get you bloody baptised in a pool of Gran’s detox before you buy a one way ticket down into the Depths.”

“Yerr’a fucking shit, I was drinking that!” the drunk yelled, staggering after the flask before he was roughly shoved back by his partner.

For a tense moment, John was afraid that the tipsy warg would fall into the bush where he hid. But the sober one quickly caught him before that happened. John would have let out a sigh of relief if he wasn’t afraid for his life.

“You look pathetic,” Carl’s partner snorted.

“Shuddup!” the drunk bristled. He seemed ready to say more but suddenly paused and sniffed the air. “I shmell somethin’ funny,” he slurred.

‘Oh fuck,’ John stiffened and readied to spring out of the bush.

The drunk warg dangerously lurched over the rose bush and took a long sniff. “Blimey, those roses smell lovely,” he commented, reaching into the bush to pluck one. Thankfully, just as the warg’s hand drew alarmingly close to John’s head, the warg sneezed. “Gah, damn flowersh,” he muttered, withdrawing his hand as he did. Unfortunately, for the tipsy warg, and more importantly John, that sneeze seemed to have set off a chain reaction in his body. “Urgh, I think I’m gonna-” was all the warning John got before the warg violently expelled the contents of his stomach into the bush.

Most of it splashed onto the ground inches from John or was caught by the net of leaves, but he winced as he felt several thick globs splash onto the hood. His nose curled as the stench of ****-mixed vomit tickled his sinuses. “Red is gonna **** me…” he grimaced.

“Bloody ‘ell, Carl, you’re fucked,” his partner groaned and roughly slapped the drunk on the back to expel the last of the vomit. “C’mon, let’s get you to Gran, lad.”

“No, no,” the warg named Carl groaned in response and staggered to his feet. “I’m a’right, lezz go. We’re on the clock.”

“Yes, we are,” the sober warg agreed dryly, before the two continued along their path.

John finally breathed once the trudge of their footsteps fell outside of earshot but didn’t dare move from his position. He simply huddled in the rose bush, cramped, cold, and feeling incredibly shitty. It felt like hours had passed by the time he heard the faint buzz of a fae’s wings.

“John! You there?!” Saccharine hissed.

“Yeah,” he grumbled, carefully crawling out of the bush and still somehow managing to nick himself thrice more.

“Really?” Saccharine held back a laugh as her eyes flicked between the puddle of puke on the ground and the splash stains on the hood.

“Shut it,” John snarled back as he brushed off leaves and grime that had caught on him. “Did you find a way in?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she replied and gave him an extra dose of the scent-masking spell. “Jeez, now I gotta mask the smell of vomit too…”

After Saccharine topped him up, they wound their way through the garden until they hit the redbrick wall of the house. A small balcony extended from the wall above them, with the connecting door left wide open. John simply glared at the fae; no words were needed.

“What?!” the fae asked defensively. “You can climb up! Besides, this way we can get them some clothes.”

John checked his grievance and sighed, it was a good point. The wall itself was a clean face of redbrick with no decent handholds, but there was a nearby tree that looked sturdy enough to climb and conveniently branched towards the second story balcony. John had never been much of a climber, but he was relatively fit nowadays, so it wasn’t a huge struggle to scale the trunk and jump onto the balcony. He scored no points for grace and style, however.

The room he found himself in seemed like it had been unused for months, despite showing a personalised touch that left John with no doubt that the room belonged to someone. A thin layer of dust coated everything, though the room was otherwise impeccably neat.

“This is Cheyenne’s room,” Saccharine explained. “She’s Red’s aunt.”

“Right,” John nodded. They had kind of met, when Vulpis had showed off his basement, though she had been trapped in her wolf form. Without wasting any time, John opened her wardrobe and selected three sets of comfortable looking clothes. “Is there anyone one else on this floor?” John asked the fae.

“None,” the fae smiled. “Only other person inside right now is Gran, but she’s still asleep.”

“Great,” John allowed himself a brief moment of relief.

With no one patrolling the second floor, they were able to quickly hurry to Vulpis’ study. John jiggled the door handle and almost cried out in frustration as he found it to be locked, but Saccharine just cracked her knuckles and, after touching the handle, simply pushed the door open.

“The door’s locked by magic, the same kind that your apartment uses. Supposedly, only Vulpis can open this door, but petty household magic isn’t enough to keep a fae out,” she chuckled gleefully.

The study was as pristine and clean as John remembered it being. There was no sign of anything untoward or something that might indicate the presence of a trap door. But John knew better. He remembered distinctly Vulpis pulling on a book on the shelf to open the hidden door and, after a brief period of trial and error, found it. They hurried down the spiral steps, into the murky basement below.

John grimaced as the brutal scene confronted him once again. The pervading musk of blood, sex, and grime… the tortured bodies of the women, their supple and beautiful features marred by burns and bruises. John had felt anger last time he’d been here. Today, he felt fear. His mom was in the hands of the same monster that had committed these atrocities.

The blonde, Red’s mother, Adelia, looked at him, eyes sparkling with curiosity and amusement despite her starved and scarred state. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be down here, child,” she stated.

“Nope,” John agreed, presenting the most reassuring smile he could muster.

“That’s fucking right,” Saccharine agreed. “We’re getting you bitches outta here.”

At this proclamation, Cheyenne, who had been curled up asleep on the dirty floor, opened one wolfish eye to regard them intensely.

“Oh? Well I hope you have a plan to deal with my dear husband,” Adelia continued, as John moved close to undo her shackles; “He doesn’t much like his toys being stolen.”

“Hey! You’re not his toy, you're a person!” John said quickly.

The golden-blonde woman let out a dry chuckle. “My, aren’t you a knightly one. Well, congratulations, you’ve found not one, but three captured princesses,” she smirked while she nursed her newly liberated wrists. “My darling, Red, must have taken a real liking to you; she was always a bit of a romantic.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” John replied as he turned to release the heavily pregnant maid from her shackles. Ellyn barely even registered his presence as she mumbled listlessly in a state of semi-consciousness.

Despite having just been released, Adelia hurried to assist him. “I’m worried for her,” she admitted as she helped ease Ellyn into a nearby chair. “She’s been under a lot of strain. You were admirable, standing up for her the last time you were here. Not many have the courage to stand up to my husband’s bullying.”

“I think bullying is putting it mildly,” Saccharine frowned, before casting some sort of spell that seemed to ease the pregnant maid’s pain a bit.

Satisfied that the maid would be alright for the time being, John turned his attention to the last captive. Cheyenne was on all fours now, eagerly pulling against the chain that tied her to the wall. John got down on one knee and untied the muzzle that bound her snout, before addressing the issue of the steel collar. It was held in place by a simple lock, yet the key that opened it seemed to be nowhere around, leaving John with no option other than to break it open.

“Sorry if I hurt you with this,” John apologised to the warg in advance, before he fired off several shots of MPA directly into the collar until it snapped in half.

Cheyenne let out a triumphant howl as she was liberated, before her intense gaze turned back to John. She pounced on him, the weight of her muscled body knocking John onto his back, and began to prod and sniff him curiously. All the while her shaggy, black form steadily regained its humanity.

She was just as stunning as her sister in law, when human. Her face was sharp and regal, with dark sapphire eyes that gleamed hungrily at John. Long black hair cascaded past her, appropriately unkempt like that of a wild animal. Underneath the scars and burns, her form was pale but incredibly athletic. While a little soft around the edges due to her captivity, Cheyenne was filled with meat and muscle in all the right places, from a buoyant pair of D-cups to a set of abs that put most men to shame, to a toned ass and the thighs of a professional sprinter.

“Fucking hell,” John breathed in amazement, despite the circumstances. What else were you supposed to say when a nude, smoking hot woman had you pinned to the ground? “You ever considered modelling for a sculptor?” he asked, astonishing himself with his own boldness.

Cheyenne blinked at him in surprise, before spontaneously bursting into a roar of laughter. Her grip on John tightened, and she leaned towards him with a sly grin, licking her lips once before forcing her tongue into his mouth. He recoiled at first, but that was only in surprise. Once the shock wore off, he returned the kiss enthusiastically, showing off his Fluency skill a bit. Still, it was a bit strange to be making out with Red’s aunt when they’d really only just met. “You’re a good kisser,” she stated once she broke away from his lips. “What’s your name, boy?”

“John,” he replied breathlessly.

“John,” she echoed before grinning again. “Mmm, I owe you for freeing us. Name’s Cheyenne, but since I think I’ll be taking a bite outta you later, can call me Chey.”

Still straddling him, she turned her attention to Adelia, who was watching with a bemused expression. “You may have to take that up with my daughter, first. It seems she already staked her claim to him.”

“Eh,” the aunt shrugged. “She loves me. I’m sure she’ll share.”

“As thrilling as that prospect sounds,” John began, very much erect at the thought of boning Red’s aunt, “we really need to get going.”

“Going?” Cheyenne laughed. “My, aren’t you cute! But I’m not going anywhere right now. I’ve been locked down here for far too fucking long, and I’m feeling quite famished. So I’m going to waltz upstairs and make myself a sandwich. Should someone happen to try and get in my way… well, let’s just say hunger makes me a little fiesty,” the bloodthirsty edge to her voice chilled John, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable pinned underneath her. “After that,” Chey continued brightly, “I’m going to find my bastard brother, tear his shrivelled dick off, and shove it down his throat. And once he’s dead, you and I will rut on top of his grave.”

John could only stare blankly up at her with a mix of dumbfound amazement and fear.