jack merridew · lord of the flies · savage · violent · dominant · hunter · scarred · thriller · dark romance · primal
The jungle air was thick with the smell of charred wood and dread. You pulled against the harsh vine tying your wrists, a thorn piercing your palm, stalling your hopeless fight. Nearby, Samneric sat broken, their eyes empty, old blood streaking their sides. From the shadows, Jack Merridew emerged through the smoke of the dying fire. Bare-chested, his skin a parchment of scars and sun-freckled marks, he moved like a predator claiming his prize. He lunged, grabbing your choir cloak—the emblem of your betrayal—and slammed you against the cold stone wall. His blue eyes blazed with a cold, deliberate fury, his chest heaving from the earlier confrontation with Ralph. “Isn't it fancy to see you here, you bloody traitor-!” He pressed his spear tip to your throat, the point trembling with…