The Hunting: Ch 21

Instructions

TW: threats of torture, knife “Stop struggling, pet. It’s not going to help, you know.” “I’m not your pet!” Zara growls, fighting against the restraints binding her to the chair. Trying to choke down the bile rising in her throat even though every cell in her body is screaming with rage and terror. “Let’s move on, shall we?” He sighs, scrutinizing a manila folder. “Let’s see, pet. You’re fifteen years old. You are the founder of a therian hideout called the Nest, which is twenty or so miles south of here.” “What-how do you know that?” Zara hisses, caught off guard. Dawkins laughs grimly. “We know more than you think. In fact, I’ve known the location of your Nest for quite some time. Although all the scouts I sent into the area disappeared. Which was quite annoying.” Zara glares at him. How did he know? How could that absolute bastard possibly know about the Nest? She had done everything she could to hide it from the outside world. She had snuck into the city at night to steal scrap wood, nails and tools. The first few nights, she slept in the woods under a fallen log, bugs crawling over her as she tried to go to sleep, completely lost and miserable. But then she found Jupiter and a group of bedraggled alterhumans, also lost and on the run from Hunters, and it dawned on her that she could make something out of her misery. Why go back to the Den when she could create a kingdom right here, nestled in the trees where no one would find them? “Now, I just have one thing for you to answer, then we’re done,” Dawkins purrs. “Why is June Henrikson with you?” Zara gawks at him. “Who?” “Oh, I’m sorry. Her mother did tell me she went by Juniper most of the time.” “Wha-Juniper?” Zara sputters. “So you do know her.” “W-Why is she so important to you?” “Because her mother is a very good friend of mine. An important benefactor to the Hunting’s cause. And if I remember correctly, my contact reported that she was at the Nest, going on some grand quest.” “Your…contact?” “Nevermind,” Dawkins sighs. “Please answer the question. Why is Juniper with you?” “How did you know that was the Juniper you’re looking for? Her face was hidden behind a red squirrel mask.” “I know,” Dawkins laughs. “But my contact had a chance to see her face while she was still unconscious. And he was sure it was Julia’s daughter. They look so similar, you know.” “What are you talking about? Who’s your contact?” “Oh, no one you need to know, pet. Please just answer the question.” “No.” Zara’s voice shakes. Be strong. Be strong for Winter. Dawkins unsheathes a knife from his belt and examines it, his fingers dancing along the blade. “You’re a very pretty girl. Pretty, but shallow. All you care about is yourself.” “That’s not true!” Zara chokes out. “I care about-about someone.” “Oh right, Winter,” Dawkins laughed. “He told me about Winter. You abused him, took advantage of his emotional needs and forced him to love you. He must hate you for what you did.” “Y-y-you’re lying. He loves me. H-he always did.” Her voice stutters uncontrollably. “Are you sure?” Dawkins sneers. “Let’s see if he still loves you without a face.” “You c-c-cant’t do that!” She watches in terror as he draws closer, flicking the knifepoint lazily back and forth. “Since I’m a gentleman, I’ll give you five seconds to answer the question before I get your blood all over my newly sharpened knife. One.” Zara squirms as the knife approaches, slowly and steadily coming closer to her unpierced skin. “Two.” “N-n-no!” She cries. “Three!” “P-please,” She cowers, the traitorous tears she’s been holding down feverishly dribbling from her eyelids and pooling at her cheeks. “Four.” The knife is a mere inch away from her face. “Five.” He raises the knife to strike. “Agh! Stop!” She screams, cringing away as the blade freezes momentarily. “She wants to find her best friend. She’s trying to break into the Lodge and rescue her, I think her friend is named Amber. That’s all I know, I swear!” It’s like a dam shattering under a frenzied river, the weight of everything that had happened collapses on her like a river of emotions. She breaks down in hysterical sobbing, hating herself for being so weak. Winter would hate her if he knew what she had done. “Thank you,” Dawkins smirks, forcing her chin upwards with the knifepoint. “You’re crying now, hmm? What a weak one you are. I detest weakness.” “I’m sorry,” she whimpers, trying to fight the torrent of water leaking from her tear ducts. “It won’t happen again”knife. “Well, that was easy,” Dawkins smiles. “You’re broken now.