C10 Cinderella among the wolves

I stared at the man kneeling on the ground, my brow knitting into a deep frown. Fangley’s head was bowed, his shoulders trembling slightly. For someone who once treated me as nothing more than a pawn, it was unnerving to see him now in such a state. The memory of his taunts and dismissive smirks lingered, a sharp reminder of how he and his brothers had always made sure their status towered over mine.

“An old enemy?” I murmured, my hand instinctively rising to my throat. My fingers brushed over the spot where the blade had sliced, a phantom ache sparking fresh anger.

Fenrir’s voice broke through my thoughts, low and rumbling. “He doesn’t look like someone reveling in your fall.”

I scoffed, the bitterness thick in my throat. “He and his brothers were nothing but assholes to me when I was alive.” The words came out harder than I intended, the memories of their cruelty still fresh, their sting still sharp.

Fangley stood abruptly, his movements stiff, and without another glance, sprinted across the lawn. He disappeared behind the guest house, leaving me standing in the oppressive quiet of the night. A chill settled over me, and the weight of everything crashed down once again. His presence had been a distraction, one that dulled the intensity of Fenrir’s overwhelming aura. Now, I felt entirely exposed.

Fenrir’s large hand settled on my shoulder, and the warmth of his touch sent shivers cascading down my spine. My wolf remained eerily silent, offering no bark, no growl, no resistance. Just an empty void where her presence used to comfort me.

“Come,” he commanded, his voice softer now, yet no less authoritative.

My body tensed under his hand. “Where are we going?” My words trembled, though I tried to sound defiant.

Images of Valhalla sprang to mind—grand halls, warriors laughing around roaring fires, the clatter of goblets and the sound of songs echoing through eternity. The thought sent a strange, hollow ache through my chest.

Fenrir’s golden eyes flared with a light so fierce it made my breath catch. “Home. To study you.”

I flinched as a surge of panic shot through me. “Study me?” My voice rose. “What the hell does that mean?”

Before Fenrir could respond, a sharp, deliberate throat-clearing broke the tension. I turned, and my gaze landed on a man who looked as though he had stepped straight out of an absurd dream. His gray eyes were sharp and calculating, his pink hair a garish contrast to his somber black suit and the dark cloak draped over his shoulders. He clutched a sleek tablet like a bureaucrat ready to file papers for eternity.

“Excuse me,” he said curtly, his tone dripping with irritation. “Are you Ayla Gerrison?”

I blinked, taken aback. “Uh…yes?”

“Excellent.” He motioned to the side with a flourish that felt more performative than necessary. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll begin processing you for the afterlife.”

My jaw dropped. “Processing me? Where am I even going?”

His lips twitched in irritation, and he began tapping on his tablet without sparing me a glance. “Do you know how many souls I deal with who ask that exact question? The number is staggering. Couldn’t you have thought of something more original?”

“Sorry for not meeting your standards,” I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. “Dying hasn’t exactly been a creative process for me.”

Fenrir growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating in the pit of my stomach. “This soul belongs to me,” he snarled, stepping protectively closer to me.

The reaper didn’t even flinch. He raised one hand in a dismissive gesture, his gaze still glued to his tablet. “The management of souls falls under the jurisdiction of Heaven and Hell. You, my dear wolf god, are not on the registry.”

The intensity of Fenrir’s snarl made my knees tremble. I tried to step back, but something solid stopped me—his ward, no doubt. There was no escaping this suffocating presence.

The reaper raised a brow, finally looking up from his tablet. “Now, Miss Gerrison, shall we?”

“No.” Fenrir’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He turned to me, his expression hard. “Come with me.”

I stared at him, panic building in my chest like a storm. “I’m not going anywhere if it means being studied like some lab experiment. I’ll take my chances with the reaper.”

The reaper smirked. “A wise choice.”

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed, his golden gaze blazing. “Her soul is bound to me. The sigil on her chest proves it.”

The reaper’s amusement evaporated, replaced by a glimmer of concern. He tapped furiously on his tablet. “I’ll have to report this. My job’s already on thin ice—letting you walk off with a soul isn’t worth the risk.”

Fenrir loomed closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You’ll regret that.”

The reaper stepped back, glancing at me nervously before speaking. “Miss Gerrison, you have two options.” He paused, his tone growing sharp. “Choose wisely.”

My throat tightened, the weight of his words pressing against my chest. "I’m listening."

He raised a finger, the tension thickening with each slow motion. "First, you could spend eternity in the Fifth Faction of Hell. The Demon King will make sure every part of you is broken. His demons will torment you for things you’ve never even done." His lips curved into a sinister half-smile as he counted the second option. "Or you could come with me."

A cold wave of fear washed over me, but it was the flicker of something else—something darker—that had me swallowing hard. "Where you’ll study me for centuries," I whispered, piecing together what he hadn’t said. The air around us felt dense, oppressive. His expression shifted, something ancient and untamed in his gaze, and the world seemed to shrink.

I couldn't breathe for a moment. His presence was so overwhelming, so suffocating. And yet... there was a strange pull, something magnetic in his voice, in the way he stepped toward me, growing more intense with every movement. His blue eyes gleamed under the moonlight, burning with an intensity that felt like it could melt the very earth beneath my feet.

I glanced at the reaper. He was tapping at his phone, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air.

"What does making me strong entail?" My voice wavered, the question tumbling out before I could catch it.

Fenrir’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something raw beneath the surface. "I’ve seen what you’ve suffered. Every cut. Every loss." He took a step closer, and the air between us thickened, charged with magic. "I felt every insult, every moment of pain they made you endure. Your rage burns like fire, Ayla, and I burn with you." His voice was a growl, barely contained. His hand twitched, as if fighting the urge to reach out.

I staggered back a step, my chest tightening. "You felt that?"

"I felt everything," he rasped. "I felt the destruction of everything you were meant to become. I felt them rip that from you." His voice cracked, raw with the weight of it.

I clutched my chest, trying to steady myself. The grief hit me like a wave, crashing over my resolve, leaving me breathless. "What do you mean by ‘destroyed’? What are you talking about?"

Fenrir closed the distance between us until I could feel the heat of his body, his breath ghosting over my skin. His presence swallowed me whole. "You already know, Ayla."

His words cut deep, a jagged shard lodged in my throat. "My wolf... she’s gone?" The words barely escaped my lips, shaking as they left me. The emptiness inside me surged, a pain so intense that I thought I might collapse.

Fenrir’s eyes softened, an emotion I hadn’t expected to see from an ancient god—compassion. His hand hovered over mine, tentative. "No, not gone. Just... lost. You’re more than this. She is more than this."

I pressed my hands to my face, gasping for breath, as if I could drag my wolf back by sheer will alone. "How? How do I find her again?"

"She’s with me," Fenrir said gently, his tone like a balm to my frayed nerves. "She’s in my realm, happy, but she misses her other half. You. And I can reunite you with her. All you need to do is come with me."

I froze. "But... how can I trust you?"

The reaper, still hovering in the background, interrupted with a cold sneer. "Miss Gerrison? Your soul has been split. The wolf, as Fenrir says, is gone from your side. And I'm here to retrieve it."

I felt the sudden, icy grip of dread curl around my ribs. "Retrieve it? And then what? Send me to Hell?" The words slipped out sharp, cutting, and my heart clenched in my chest.

Fenrir’s growl was a warning, low and fierce. "Take my hand, Ayla. Let me break through this barrier. Together, we can fix what was broken."

I hesitated, the idea of more pain, more uncertainty, gnawing at me. But what choice did I have? If I stayed here, the reaper's backup would be here soon. Fenrir’s way was the only chance I had left, no matter how terrifying.

I nodded slowly, my hand trembling as I reached out toward him. The moment our fingers touched, a pulse of energy shot through me, violent and hot. My heart raced, my blood thundering in my veins, as if I were suddenly alive in a way I had never been before. Pleasure, fierce and electrifying, swirled through me, and I couldn’t help but gasp.

Fenrir grinned. "Feel that? That’s what happens when we work together."

My mind spiraled, thoughts blurred by the overwhelming sensation. If this was what his touch could do, I couldn’t imagine the rest. But I forced myself to focus, to stay grounded in the moment.

His fingers tightened around mine, his eyes blazing with intensity. The heat between us was palpable, suffocating in its power.

The reaper’s voice shook with uncertainty. "What are you doing?"

Fenrir’s expression twisted into a grin. "Let’s see how strong your barrier really is."

The reaper’s eyes widened in panic as he raised his hand, summoning his scythe with a flare of dark magic.

Fenrir’s laugh was a harsh, mocking sound, dark and full of menace. "Do you honestly think you can stop me?"

The reaper swung the scythe, but Fenrir barely flinched as the blade slashed through him, leaving a wound that closed almost instantly.

"What are you?" The reaper’s voice was barely a whisper, trembling with fear.

Fenrir leaned closer, his voice a low growl. "Pull down your ward, or I’ll tear through it."

The reaper’s lips quivered, his gray eyes shifting nervously. “You don’t understand... If I do this, they’ll—”

“Send you to Hell?” Fenrir interrupted with a smirk, his voice calm yet full of dangerous intent.

My heart skipped. I couldn’t look away. As Fenrir reached down to the reaper’s cloak, I held my breath. He ripped the clasp off with ease, a movement that was almost too quick to follow.

The magic coursing through my veins intensified, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to make sense of what was happening. The power between us—our hands—glowed like liquid fire, casting a soft light across the darkness. How was this even possible? Reapers were supposed to be untouchable, their cloaks woven with spells that made them invincible. They were celestial enforcers—never meant to be overpowered.

Fenrir’s roar echoed through the air, a sound that vibrated deep within my chest. With a single swipe, he ripped the reaper’s cloak off, the fabric crumbling away as though it had never been enchanted in the first place.

The reaper dropped to his knees, his body shaking, his hands clasped together in desperation. “Please... don’t hurt me.”

Fenrir didn’t flinch. “You’ll do as I say, or else.” His voice was low, but there was a palpable force behind it. His presence—his power—washed over me, making the air thick with heat. My body trembled, not from fear, but from the raw, intoxicating energy that bled from him.

“I can’t... I... I can’t,” the reaper pleaded, his voice cracking under the pressure.

Fenrir’s hand curled into a fist, claws extending, sharp and deadly. He swiped them across the reaper’s neck in one fluid motion, and I watched in stunned silence as the reaper’s head fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

The magic that had been holding us captive disappeared in an instant, dissipating like mist before the sun. Fenrir turned to me, his lips curling into a grin, as if he were reveling in the destruction he’d caused. The energy around us was palpable, thrumming like a live wire.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice smooth, almost playful—like he hadn't just torn through the fabric of a reaper's existence.