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The world is full of monsters. Some of them have sharp teeth and glinting eyes, have claws that scratch against rock and foul smells to make your nose wrinkle. Some are professional, noble, even, smiling and proud and sure of themselves.
The man chained to a root at Iphigenia's feet is the second kind of monster. Or was, anyway, when he had still had fine clothes and finer soldiers to defend him. Now all he has is the wicked embrace of the dryad's hands and the cold eyes of his captors on his skin.
Nonetheless, there's an arrogant lift to his jaw that Iphigenia remembers from the old days, when her father would strut before his troops and give one battle-hungry speech after another. He does not understand how this has been done to him, what will be done, so he refuses to accept it at all.
They're alone together, more or less. The other huntresses are finishing off the last of his men, or already making post-battle love amidst the blood of her enemies. A few familiar sighs rise up from the brush around them, and Iphigenia's cheeks flicker with the faintest memory of a blush. She's made plenty of those noises in front of her companions, and pulled plenty from them as well, that their open displays of affections don't have much of an impact these days.
She kneels by her side, and he spits something ugly. She doesn't bother to process it. The only thing that matters about this man is the pale vulnerability in his flesh, and how it almost cries out for the knife Iphigenia is pulling from its sheath.
The first cut is to his thigh and he lets out a sharp little hiss, not so much from the level as the intensity of it. His leg bucks and the knife jerks in Iphigenia's hand, caught off guard by his force. She jerks back, the knife slipping from her fingers and nearly cutting her.
He laughs and Iphigenia growls low in her throat as she picks up her knife. She turns it over in her fingers, trying to figure out how to go about this.
"May I help?"
Iphigenia jolts at the sudden voice; her mistress has a habit of sneaking up on people that she takes far too much pleasure in. She looks up to see Artemis smiling down on her as she wipes the blood off one of her arrows, sliding it back into her quiver.
Artemis looks tired; this particular two-legged beast, a despoiler of land and people alike, has given them quite a hunt. There's dirt and blood Artemis' dark skin, and her short white hair is a little damp with sweat.
But she's smiling as she kneels by Iphigenia's sides, eyes glistening with the light of a good hunt. Her teeth are a bit sharper than a normal woman's and looking at them for too long makes the recent bite on Iphigenia's leg throb with memory. She's not surprised to find herself smiling back.
Artemis takes out a knife, silver glimmering between her fingers with an almost unearthly light. A gift from her father, they say. What they don't say is that he gave it before he knew, before anyone knew, that the child standing before him was actually a girl.
Iphigenia and Artemis have both made their journeys to this place, to these shapes and lives. This knife, Artemis' favorite, is a reminder of that. Same as the scar across Iphigenia's neck, the one she refuses to let anyone heal.
The man opens his mouth to spit more foul things, but Artemis' free hand blurs out to wrap around his cock. She squeezes and he squeals like a stuck pig, giving a root the opportunity to jam itself into his mouth. Artemis nods her head in thanks to the dryad, who smirks from the depths of their tree.
Artemis lifts up the man's cock, regarding it thoughtfully. "It's soft here," she says, almost to herself. "No muscles, no armor."
Her gaze flicks to the man's. "You used this as a weapon," she says, pressing a thumb to his sac with a touch too much force. "Should I disarm you?"
He sucks in a sharp breath, squirming away from her. Artemis laughs a rough laugh, like water crashing over stones. "Look at that. You're dancing and I haven't even hurt you." She flips the knife in her hand, the blade flashing brighter than her amused smile. "Would you like me to hurt you?"
The man doesn't. This becomes expressly clear with the earsplitting scream he lets out as the knife presses ever so delicately along his shaft. His entire body lurches, shaking helplessly in his restraints as he tries to get away.
"Here," Artemis says, turning to Iphigenia. "You try."
Iphigenia blinks, carefully flipping her own knife into the proper position. She extends it towards the man's cock, takes a few minutes to make her mark, and then slowly drags it across the head.
The sound he makes is painfully loud, but also beautiful. His eyes roll in his head and Artemis sighs, jolting him back to consciousness with a wave of her hand.
She looks up at Iphigenia with a wolfish grin. "That's it, Geni," she says, the nickname warm in her mouth. And said is very itself warm as she leans close, pulling Iphigenia into a kiss. Her hand rubs gently against Iphigenia's thigh, tracing the bite marks from several different sets of teeth.
Iphigenia lets out a soft sigh, blood humming in her ears in time with the blood dripping from her mouth. She was afraid of blood, once, before she came here. But Artemis and her huntresses taught her better.
Artemis pulls away and settles back on her heels. "Now, make him dance for us, sweetheart," she says. Behind her, Iphigenia can see other huntresses peering out of the shadows, watching them with strange and hungry eyes. But it's all right, because Iphigenia's eyes are dark and hungry, too, and tonight there will be enough teeth and flesh for them all.
She nods and picks up the knife, setting back to work so they can start off tonight's festivities with a proper show.