The hut was stifling, filled with the low murmur of labored breathing and the scent of fear. Rody sat against the back wall, his wrists bound tightly behind him, the rope digging into his skin. The others-five of his colleagues-were scattered around the hut, huddled together in various states of panic. They were all alive, for now, but none of them knew for how long. Every rustle outside the thin walls sent waves of terror through the group.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The expedition had been planned for months-a routine biological survey of a remote island in the Pacific. The island had been a mystery, uncharted and forgotten, but their discovery had been far worse than they ever could have imagined.
The tribe that inhabited the island was unlike anything they had studied. They were cannibals-hunters of men. The group had been captured almost immediately after landing, dragged to the village with crude weapons at their throats. One by one, they had been tossed into this hut, left to await their fate.
Rody glanced at his colleagues. Dr. Sanders, their team leader, was pale, his hands trembling as he whispered something to himself. Caroline, the youngest of the team, kept glancing toward the door, her breath shallow. No one spoke aloud; no one dared.
Except for Vincent. At least Rody thought that was his name. He heard the others call him that.
He was there again, crouched beside Rody, the same way he had been for hours. Rody hadn’t been able to shake him. The boy-no, the man, though he looked so young-had been watching him since they were captured, his eyes filled with something dark and possessive. While the others had been treated with cold indifference by the tribe, Vincent had singled out Rody almost immediately, following him around the village like a shadow.
Vincent’s presence was unnerving. He didn’t speak, or if he did, it was in a language Rody couldn’t understand, soft murmurs that barely carried past his lips. His movements were slow and careful, as though afraid of startling Rody, but there was something in his wide, dark eyes that terrified him. A hunger, yes-but not the kind Rody had seen in the others.
Vincent’s fingers brushed against Rody’s arm, a tentative touch that made Rody flinch. He had been doing this for hours-small, gentle touches that Rody couldn’t escape from. It was like being trapped with a clingy, desperate child. But there was no innocence here. There was only a twisted, disturbing affection that made Rody’s skin crawl.
“Please… get away from me,” Rody whispered, his voice hoarse from fear and exhaustion.
Vincent didn’t understand the words, but he understood the tone. He whimpered softly, his fingers tightening around Rody’s arm, refusing to let go. His eyes widened in a silent plea, his head tilting slightly as if asking why Rody was trying to pull away.
“Rody,” Caroline whispered from across the hut, her voice trembling. “What does he want from you?”
“I don’t know,” Rody muttered, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was terrified. The way Vincent looked at him, the way he clung to him-it wasn’t normal. None of this was.
Vincent’s fingers slid down to Rody’s wrist, his touch featherlight as he examined the raw, red skin where the ropes had dug in. His brow furrowed, and he made a soft sound of distress, as if he didn’t like seeing Rody in pain. Slowly, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead against Rody’s shoulder, nuzzling into him like a cat seeking comfort.
Rody shuddered, jerking back as far as the ropes would allow. “Stop,” he hissed, but Vincent didn’t move. His arms wrapped around Rody’s waist, pulling him closer, his body trembling slightly as if afraid Rody might slip away.
“What is he doing?” Sanders asked, his voice strained with confusion and fear. “Why does he keep… touching you?”
“I don’t know!” Rody snapped, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t know what he wants!”
Vincent’s grip tightened in response to Rody’s agitation, his face buried against Rody’s chest now. He whimpered softly, a sound that made Rody’s skin crawl. It was as if Vincent was afraid-afraid of losing him, of being rejected. But that fear was wrapped in something darker, something possessive.
“I think he likes you,” Caroline said quietly, her eyes wide with realization. “The way he’s looking at you, Rody. It’s not the same as the others. He’s… attached.”
Attached. The word hung in the air like a weight. Rody didn’t want to think about what that meant. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he tried to break free.
The door to the hut creaked open, and everyone froze. Two tribesmen stood in the doorway, their eyes scanning the room, cold and calculating. They were the same men who had taken two of their colleagues earlier that day. The memory of their screams still haunted Rody.
One of the tribesmen pointed toward Rody, a guttural command spilling from his lips. Rody’s heart lurched in his chest. This was it. They were coming for him.
But Vincent moved first.
With a low hiss, he scrambled to his feet, placing himself between Rody and the tribesmen. His stance was protective, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. He barked something at them in his own language, his voice sharp and commanding.
The tribesmen hesitated, exchanging glances. Then, after a tense moment, they backed away, closing the door behind them.
Rody let out a shaky breath, his mind reeling. What had just happened? Why had Vincent stopped them?
“He’s protecting you,” Sanders muttered, his voice laced with disbelief. “But why? What does he want from you, Rody?”
Vincent knelt back down beside Rody, his hands trembling as he reached for him again. He pressed his face into Rody’s neck, nuzzling him like before, his body warm and clingy. Rody could feel Vincent’s breath against his skin, hot and shallow, as if he was fighting to keep Rody close.
“He’s keeping me,” Rody whispered, the realization sinking in like a stone. “He’s keeping me for himself.”
Caroline’s eyes widened in horror. “You mean… he won’t let them take you?”
Rody swallowed hard. He didn’t know if that was better or worse. Vincent’s protectiveness wasn’t rooted in kindness. It was rooted in possession. The boy-no, the creature-was clinging to him like a lifeline, desperate and obsessive.
“He wants me,” Rody said, his voice barely audible. “He’s not going to let anyone else have me.”
And as Vincent’s arms tightened around him, Rody knew that escape was impossible. The tribe may have wanted to devour him, but Vincent had a different hunger-a hunger that was just as dangerous.
And Rody was trapped in it, caught in the clutches of a boy who would never let him go.
Rody’s heart raced, but his body felt numb, his mind unable to grasp the full scope of what was happening. He looked at his colleagues, their eyes wide with disbelief and horror, but none of them dared to speak. They, too, had realized the terrifying truth: Vincent wasn’t saving him-he was claiming him.
Vincent’s hands trailed up Rody’s sides, fingers trembling as if scared to be rejected again. His grip was light but unyielding, a constant reminder that Rody belonged to him now. Vincent whimpered softly, his face still pressed into Rody’s neck, and Rody could feel his breath coming in short, needy bursts.
“Rody…” Caroline whispered, her voice trembling. “What are we going to do?”
Rody had no answer. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know how to survive the next few minutes, let alone escape this island. He wanted to lash out, to scream, to demand why this was happening to him-but the weight of Vincent’s body against him, the desperate clinging, stopped him. It was as if Vincent could sense his thoughts, and the thought of rejecting him sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t know what Vincent might do if pushed too far.
“Get him away from me…” Sanders mumbled, his voice shaking. “Get him away before he-“
“Shut up,” Rody muttered under his breath. “Shut up, Sanders, he’s listening.”
The words didn’t make much sense, but they came out anyway. Somehow, Rody had the feeling that Vincent knew more than he let on, that the language barrier wasn’t complete. There was something in Vincent’s eyes, something calculating behind the strange, childlike affection.
Vincent pulled back slightly, just enough to look into Rody’s eyes. His hands cupped Rody’s face, as if searching for some sign of understanding. His dark eyes were wide, pupils blown and frantic, as though he was scared Rody would disappear the second he looked away.
Rody swallowed hard, trying to calm the rising panic in his chest. “I… I’m not going anywhere.”
Vincent’s lips twitched, almost like he was trying to smile, but it came out wrong-more of a grimace, strained and unsettling. He murmured something in his native tongue, his voice soft but insistent, like a child asking for reassurance.
Rody had no idea what he was saying, but he nodded anyway. “I… I won’t leave.”
Vincent’s expression softened just a little, though the intensity in his eyes never faded. He leaned forward again, pressing his face into the crook of Rody’s neck, his body curling around Rody’s like he was trying to hide him from the world.
Rody forced himself to breathe evenly, his mind racing. He had to think. He had to find a way to keep Vincent calm, to keep him from turning violent. If Vincent lashed out, there was no doubt that he’d tear Rody apart-or worse, he might let the others do it.
Suddenly, the door to the hut creaked open again, and the tension in the room spiked. Two tribesmen stood in the doorway, one of them holding a crude knife, its blade glinting in the dim light. The air grew heavy with the metallic scent of blood, and Rody’s heart skipped a beat.
Vincent reacted before Rody could even process the danger.
With a low, guttural growl, Vincent stood, his small frame shaking with barely contained rage. His eyes narrowed, dark and furious, as he barked something at the men. His voice was no longer soft or childlike; it was commanding, filled with a venom that sent a chill down Rody’s spine.
The tribesmen hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. One of them muttered something in response, gesturing toward the others in the hut. But Vincent shook his head violently, stepping in front of Rody, shielding him with his body.
Rody watched in stunned silence as Vincent snarled, his words sharp and vicious. The tribesmen’s expressions shifted-fearful, uncertain. They didn’t want to challenge Vincent. They knew better.
After what felt like an eternity, the men backed away, retreating into the darkness outside. The door shut with a soft thud, and the tension in the hut eased-though only slightly.
Vincent turned back to Rody, his chest heaving with the remnants of his fury. He knelt beside him again, his hands trembling as they reached for Rody’s face, his expression softening as soon as their eyes met.
He was back to being clingy, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had appeared.
Rody’s mind reeled. Vincent had just saved his life again, but at what cost? How much longer could he keep this fragile balance, keep Vincent pacified while his colleagues looked on, terrified? How long until Vincent’s twisted affection turned into something far worse?
The hut was silent, the others too scared to speak. They watched in stunned disbelief as Vincent wrapped his arms around Rody again, nuzzling into him like nothing had happened. Like the threat of death hadn’t just hung in the air.
Rody’s pulse hammered in his ears. He was trapped, and no amount of false reassurance would change that. Vincent was obsessed, clingy in a way that bordered on dangerous. And there was no telling what he would do if he thought Rody might try to escape.
Rody’s skin prickled, every nerve on edge as the warmth of Vincent’s body pressed against his own. The humid air inside the hut was suffocating, thick with the scent of dirt and sweat, but that was nothing compared to the suffocating presence of the man clinging to him like a lifeline.
Vincent’s arms were wrapped around Rody’s waist, his face buried against his chest, his breath hot and uneven against Rody’s skin. Outside the flimsy walls of the hut, the low hum of the island’s night carried on, the rustle of leaves and distant, guttural calls of the tribesmen a constant reminder of their grim fate.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was just a routine expedition-a simple survey of the uncharted island. But now, here they were, trapped, captured by cannibals. Rody and his colleagues had been thrown into this hut like cattle waiting for the slaughter, but Vincent…
Vincent wasn’t like the others. And Rody still didn’t know if that was a good thing.
A shiver ran down Rody’s spine as Vincent’s fingers brushed his arm again, light as a feather but enough to make his skin crawl. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and whispered, “Let go of me…”
Vincent didn’t understand the words, but he felt the tension in Rody’s body. His arms tightened, his soft whimpering filling the quiet space between them. It wasn’t the whimper of a man terrified of death. No, it was something far more unsettling-a needy, possessive sound, as if Vincent couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from Rody for even a moment.
The hut was filled with the uneasy silence of his colleagues watching the scene unfold. Caroline sat in the corner, wide-eyed, her breath shallow, and Dr. Sanders muttered nervously to himself. But none of them dared to speak up or question what was happening.
Rody’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to pull away again, but Vincent only nuzzled closer, his face pressing into the crook of Rody’s neck. His breath was hot, shaky, as though he was clinging to Rody not just physically but emotionally, like some twisted form of comfort.
“Why are you doing this?” Rody whispered, his voice hoarse. His wrists ached from the ropes biting into his skin, but Vincent didn’t seem to care. He didn’t even seem to notice the desperation in Rody’s voice, or if he did, he didn’t care. Vincent’s fingers curled into the fabric of Rody’s shirt, holding on tighter, his trembling growing worse.
“He’s not letting go,” Caroline’s voice came out barely a whisper, but the fear in it was palpable. “Rody, I think-he wants to keep you.”
Rody’s breath hitched. Keep him? His stomach turned at the thought. The way Vincent touched him, the way his dark eyes never left him-it wasn’t just an obsession. It was something worse. Something primal.
Vincent had saved him earlier when the tribesmen had come. He had thrown himself between Rody and the knife-wielding hunters, snarling in their language and driving them off with a fury that Rody hadn’t known the quiet, strange man possessed. But the look in Vincent’s eyes then-wild, possessive-it hadn’t been out of kindness. It had been the desperate act of a man who refused to let go of what he thought was his.
Rody stared at the door, the only barrier between them and the outside world, but he knew that escape wasn’t an option. Not like this. Not while Vincent was watching his every move, clinging to him as though letting go would be the death of him.
A sudden, sharp movement from Vincent startled him. The man sat up slightly, his eyes wide and frantic as he looked at Rody, his lips trembling as he murmured something Rody couldn’t understand. It was the same soft, desperate language Vincent had been using since they were thrown into the hut together. A plea, maybe? A reassurance? Rody couldn’t tell, and that only made it worse.
“I-I’m not going anywhere,” Rody stammered, hoping to calm Vincent down. His voice shook, but he forced himself to speak. “Just… calm down. Please.”
Vincent’s grip loosened, if only slightly. His eyes searched Rody’s face for a long moment, as if trying to find the truth in his words, before he leaned forward again, pressing his forehead against Rody’s. His breath was ragged, his body trembling, but he stayed quiet.
Rody squeezed his eyes shut. He had to think. He had to find a way out of this-out of Vincent’s grasp, out of the hut, off the island. But with every passing minute, that hope seemed more distant. He wasn’t just a prisoner of the tribe. He was a prisoner of Vincent’s twisted affection, and as long as Vincent held onto him, Rody knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
He wasn’t sure which fate scared him more-the one waiting for him outside or the one that clung to him now.
“I’m not yours,” Rody whispered, but the words felt hollow.
The door creaked open again, and this time, Vincent froze.
A larger figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the faint light outside. The chief of the tribe. His gaze swept over the room, landing on Vincent and Rody, his expression unreadable. He said something in a low, gravelly voice, his words thick with authority.
Vincent didn’t respond immediately. His grip on Rody tightened, his body trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. But after a long, tense moment, he bowed his head slightly, acquiescing to whatever command had been given.
The chief stepped forward, kneeling down beside Vincent. His eyes fixed on Rody, cold and calculating. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he reached out, placing a hand on Vincent’s shoulder.
Vincent shuddered, his fingers digging into Rody’s sides, but he didn’t resist. The chief spoke again, this time more softly, and Vincent nodded, his expression tense.
Then, to Rody’s horror, the chief turned to him, his eyes gleaming with something dark. He gestured to Rody, then to Vincent, speaking slowly, as if making sure Vincent understood.
Vincent’s breath hitched, his face crumpling in a mixture of confusion and desperation. He looked at Rody, then back at the chief, shaking his head in frantic denial.
The chief spoke in a rapid, unfamiliar language, each word flowing together in a rhythmic, almost musical pattern. Rody could make out no meaning, but the tone was unmistakable-urgent and charged with a tension that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Vincent’s face remained impassive, but there was something in his eyes that flickered with a hidden intensity. He responded in the same strange language, his voice low and controlled. The conversation was brief, and as the chef finished speaking, he turned and walked away, leaving Vincent standing alone.
Rody’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched the exchange, his mind racing to piece together what little he could understand from their body language and the emotional undertones. The atmosphere felt heavy, almost oppressive, as Vincent turned back to face him. The brief, cryptic exchange only deepened Rody’s unease, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something crucial had just transpired-something that had shifted the balance in the room.
Vincent looked back at Rody, his face a portrait of anguish. He tried to speak, his voice trembling as he muttered something in his own tongue, his eyes pleading.
Vincent sank to his knees beside Rody, his hands reaching out with a mix of trembling gentleness and frantic need. He buried his face in Rody’s shoulder, his body shaking with silent sobs.
Rody couldn’t understand what the chief said but it clearly had something to do with him and it seemed to have upset Vincent.
“Vincent,” Rody said softly, trying to comfort him despite the fear gripping him. “It’s okay. We need to figure out how to get out of here.”
Vincent looked up, his dark eyes filled with confusion and pain. He didn’t understand Rody’s words, but the tone of his voice seemed to offer some semblance of comfort. He nodded, a small, tentative gesture that indicated he was trying to understand.
Rody turned to his colleagues, their expressions a mixture of fear and relief. He hurriedly began untying them, his hands moving quickly. Vincent, though visibly distressed, helped as best as he could, his gestures clumsy but earnest.
As they freed themselves from their bonds, Vincent kept close to Rody, his presence a strange mix of protective and sorrowful. The tribe’s celebratory noises echoed faintly outside, and the threat of discovery loomed large.
They crept out of the hut into the dense forest, the dark canopy above offering some cover. Vincent led them cautiously, his movements furtive and anxious. The forest was thick and treacherous, but the group pressed on, driven by the hope of escape.
Hours passed, each moment fraught with tension and fear. Vincent remained a constant presence beside Rody, his eyes darting around as if expecting danger at every turn. Despite the language barrier, there was a shared understanding between them-a need to survive, to escape the island and the horrors it held.
As dawn approached, the group emerged from the forest’s edge, the distant horizon promising safety. Vincent’s relief was palpable, though his exhaustion was evident. He had played a dangerous game, in his need to protect Rody he had betrayed his tribe.
Vincent lead them to a small area near the shore where the tribe had kept Rody and his companions boat.
Rody glanced back at the island, a shiver running down his spine. The memories of the night would haunt him, but for now, they had escaped. Vincent’s actions had saved their lives, though the cost was high. The boy’s obsessive need had been both a shield and a curse, and Rody knew that the island’s dark influence would linger long after their departure.
They made their way to a nearby rescue station, Vincent’s silent presence a constant reminder of the night’s events. As they boarded the transport that would take them away, Rody looked at Vincent, his eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow.
Vincent met his gaze, a hint of a sad, broken smile on his lips. He reached out, his hand brushing against Rody’s arm in a gesture of farewell. Did…..did Vincent think Rody would leave him behind? Leaving Vincent wasn’t an option. He had betrayed his tribe. They would kill him.
Rody pulled Vincent into his arms, pulling him in the transport. Vincent seemed shocked. Was Vincent expecting Rody to not care about him? Rody shook his head, pulling Vincent closer.
As the transport moved away from the island, Rody watched the dark silhouette of the rescue station fade into the distance. He knew taking Vincent with him would cause issues in the future. But to Rody it didn’t matter. They were safe, and that was all that mattered.
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