C12 Cinderella among the wolves

By the time we emerged from the dense pines and approached a rise in the hills, the cold had worked its way deep into my skin. The sensation returned like needles puncturing every nerve, stabbing my flesh with a relentless sting. But then, Fenrir’s warmth surrounded me, seeping into my chilled body, and I couldn’t help but relax into the steady strength of his arms. My muscles, once tense and stiff, slowly melted against his broad chest.

He came to a halt in front of a hut nestled into the hillside. The structure was simple, built of weathered wood, its roof overgrown with creeping vines and moss. The entrance was framed by two massive beams, creating a towering A-shape. The kind of thing you'd expect to find in old legends, rough and untouched by time.

“This is where you live?” I asked, my voice a mix of curiosity and something like disbelief.

Fenrir’s brows drew together as he glared down at me, his voice low and sharp. “Were you expecting a palace in the clouds?”

I shrugged, trying to play it off. “No,” I lied, but the truth was, I had no idea what to expect.

He didn’t wait for my response, just pushed open the door, sending a wave of warm air into my face. It smelled like pine, fresh and comforting, the kind of warmth you only find in a place untouched by the world’s cold. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, allowing myself to feel it, to sink into the warmth that I hadn’t realized I’d been longing for. The contrast was overwhelming—compared to being dragged through the freezing wilderness, this felt like Heaven itself.

Fenrir carried me into the small cabin, the interior rustic, with wood-paneled walls and an earth-packed floor. Low platforms, covered in thick, luxurious furs, dotted the space. A fire pit crackled in the center, the flames dancing and sending flickers of light against the walls. It felt... homey, in an ancient, primal sort of way.

"This is cozy," I muttered, the first real words I’d said in a while.

He said nothing, just moved deeper into the hut, stopping in front of a large stone fireplace that spanned an entire wall. The flames crackled louder as if greeting us, their warmth pulling me closer, comforting me in a way I hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

Fenrir gently laid me down on a pile of furs, the softness beneath me a welcome change from the cold, hard earth. I sighed deeply, my hands instinctively reaching out to warm themselves by the fire. The heat was so intense, so perfect, that I almost felt like I was melting into it.

I glanced back over my shoulder, watching Fenrir as he removed his tunic. His body was like something carved from stone—muscles that were thick, defined, every line and curve a testament to strength. I found myself unable to look away, but it wasn’t just his physicality that held my attention—it was the raw power that radiated from him.

“You said my wolf was here,” I said, my voice more of a question than a demand. I hoped he’d hear the unspoken plea in my words, the urgency behind them.

Fenrir didn't answer right away, his hands moving to the fastenings of his breeches. The motion was slow, deliberate, almost taunting, and for a split second, I felt like a deer caught in a hunter’s gaze. My breath caught in my throat, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away, despite myself.

His clothes fell to the floor with a soft rustle, and everything around me seemed to blur. The fire crackled louder, but I barely heard it. My senses were overloaded, consumed by the sight of him—strong, unapologetically male, and completely unaffected by my presence. My heart pounded in my chest, and I knew I should look away, should turn around, but I couldn’t.

“Got enough of staring?” Fenrir’s voice cut through the haze, rough and mocking.

Heat flooded my face, and I forced my gaze upwards, meeting his eyes. His sneer sent a shiver down my spine, but I refused to shrink away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I spat, trying to sound defiant even though my heart was racing in my chest. “Is this your idea of some kind of joke?”

His growl sent a chill down my back, his eyes narrowing as he leaned in close. “Fine words from the naked woman sitting in front of me. Don’t pretend like you didn’t notice.”

I recoiled, instinctively covering myself, and hissed, “You dragged me through the cold, refused me the cloak... and now this?”

Fenrir crouched in front of me, his lips pulled back in a snarl. His eyes never left mine, cold and calculating. He was in control. And he knew it.

I forced myself to hold his gaze. “Is this what you wanted?” I asked, my voice quieter now, with a mix of anger and fear.

“No,” he replied, his tone flat. “You’re not in Asgard. You’re not in Heaven. You’re not anywhere close to the living world.”

My stomach twisted, the weight of his words sinking in. “Then where are we?” I asked, barely able to breathe as the reality of my situation set in.

He met my eyes for a moment, as if deciding whether to answer. “A pocket dimension in the Sixth Faction of Hell,” he said finally, his voice low and final.