Chapter 5: Bugs, Blood, and a Bitch Sister

Viktor POV

The old hunting lodge didn't just smell like mold; it smelled like the end of the world. It was a thick, cloying cocktail of rotting cedar, ancient rat droppings, and the damp, stagnant air of a place where dreams went to die.

I slapped at my neck for what felt like the thousandth time that hour, my sausage fingers smashing a mosquito that had been feasting on the sweaty rolls of my nape. The sound was wet and sickeningly satisfying, leaving a smear of my own blood across my palm.

“Fucking hell!” I roared, my voice bouncing off the low, timbered ceiling. I flailed my meaty arms, trying to ward off the buzzing swarm that seemed to view my massive frame as an all-you-can-eat buffet. “These goddamn bugs are trying to drain me dry! I’m already fat enough without turning into a walking blood bag for the local wildlife!”

The term “lodge” was a mockery. It was a two-room wooden shack with a roof that didn't so much leak as it did surrender to the rain. The fireplace was a blackened hole that produced more blinding smoke than heat, and the single lumpy mattress smelled of unwashed hunters and wet dog. Outside, the Eastern forest pressed in like a physical weight—dark, gnarled trees, strange, high-pitched howls that chilled the bone, and the constant, unsettling rustle of things that moved in the shadows.

I had two guards. Only two. Thorne, that opportunistic bastard, had stayed at the manor—loyal to the title of Baron, not the man who had worn it. These two were the scrapings from the bottom of the barrel. Garrick was a skinny, wiry man with a permanent, mocking smirk etched into his face. Bolen was a bald, slab-chested brute who rarely spoke, but when he did, his laugh sounded like a braying donkey.

“Right you are, my lord,” Garrick said from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a casual insolence that would have earned him a lashing two days ago. He didn't even bother to hide his grin. “Maybe if you weren’t such a sprawling, fat fucking feast, the bugs wouldn’t be so keen on you. You’re like a lighthouse for every blood-sucker in the woods.”

Bolen snorted from his corner, his whetstone rasping against the edge of his short sword. “True enough. The whole damn forest probably thinks a whale beached itself in the clearing.”

My face turned a shade of purple that matched the bruises on my back. “Watch your fucking mouths! I am still a Grell! I can still have you both whipped until your skin hangs in ribbons!”

Garrick let out a bark of genuine laughter, pushing off the doorframe. “Whipped by who? Sophia? She’d probably send us a crate of fine wine for keeping your bloated ass from wandering into a ravine. Face it, Baron—oh, wait, you aren’t one anymore. You’re just a fat, exiled prick with two minders, a leaky roof, and a very short future.”

In a fit of blind rage, I grabbed the nearest object—a dented tin cup—and hurled it at Garrick. It missed by three feet, clattering uselessly against the log wall before rolling into the dirt.

“Laugh it up, you skinny cunt,” I hissed, my breath coming in shallow, wheezing hitches. “When I claw my way back to power, I’ll feed your balls to the palace hounds while you watch.”

Bolen stood up, his massive frame casting a shadow over the hearth as he stretched. “The monsters were loud last night, Garrick. Heard a direwolf pack circling the creek. You think our lord is going to fight them off with his gut? Or maybe he’ll just out-sweat them?”

The two guards shared another round of laughter as they headed outside to "check the perimeter," leaving me alone with the buzzing insects and the crushing weight of my own failure.

I slumped into a creaking wooden chair that groaned in agony under my weight. Sweat poured down my multiple chins, stinging the welts Sophia had left. My fine silks—once the envy of the court—were ruined, stained with grime, sweat, and the crushed remains of forest gnats. There were no servants to draw a bath. No silver trays of roasted pheasant. Last night’s “dinner” had been a heel of hard bread, a strip of leathery dried meat, and a watery stew that tasted like old dishwater.

“Fuck this world,” I whispered, scratching viciously at a dozen itchy, red welts on my forearms. “I had a manor. I had maids like Lila. I had the power to make men tremble. And I threw it all away for one village girl. Stupid. So fucking stupid.”

A long, mournful howl echoed through the trees, closer this time. My massive body jiggled as I flinched. I hated how weak I was. I was short of breath after walking fifty yards to the latrine. I couldn't even swing a poker without my arms wobbling like jelly. The original Viktor had relied entirely on status and hired muscle.

Now, I was the joke, and the muscle was laughing at me.

Garrick poked his head back inside, his eyes dancing with malice. “Hey, fat-ass. We’re low on supplies already. Sophia’s people only sent enough for a week, and I suspect they weren't counting on you eating for three men. You want us to go hunt, or are you going to waddle out there and scare the deer to death with your stench?”

“GET OUT!” I screamed, throwing another cup. This one actually clipped his shoulder, but it didn't slow him down.

“Whatever you say, ex-Baron,” Garrick called back, his laughter fading as he walked away. “Try not to get eaten tonight. It would be a lot of work to bury what’s left of you.”

Sophia POV – Grell Manor

The air in the Main Dining Hall felt different—lighter, as if a layer of grime had been scrubbed from the very stones.

I sat at the head of the long table—my table—watching the servants move. The frantic, wide-eyed cowering was gone, replaced by a quiet, efficient calm. No one was hiding bruises under their sleeves today.

“Madame Elara,” I said, my voice warm. “How are the new arrangements progressing?”

The head housekeeper, a woman I had rarely seen crack a smile in my eighteen years, looked at me with genuine warmth. “Very well, Lady Baroness. The younger maids have been moved to the upper quarters with reinforced locks. Lila has taken to her role as assistant housekeeper with great diligence. And young Mira…”

Elara glanced at the auburn-haired girl standing near the sideboard. Mira looked better—her hair was clean, and she wore a proper servant’s dress of sturdy wool. But her green eyes still held the haunted look of someone who had peered into the abyss.

Mira stepped forward and curtsied, her movements still a bit stiff. “Thank you, Lady Sophia. I… I still wake up thinking I’m back in that village, or worse… in that room. I can’t believe you saved me.”

I waved a hand dismissively. “You saved yourself by proving you had the spirit to resist him. And in doing so, you gave me the leverage I needed to lynch his reputation. The manor is already improving. We’re clearing out those ‘interrogation’ rooms in the sub-basement. They’ll be storage for grain now. No more blood will be spilled in the dark of this house.”

Lady Margaret, seated to my right, nodded her approval. “You’ve done more for the Grell reputation in forty-eight hours than your brother did in a decade. Even your father seems… lighter.”

Viscount Harlan grunted from his chair, though the usual scowl was absent. “Exhausted is the word I’d use. Dealing with the fallout of his village massacres is going to take months. But yes. The Grell name was becoming a curse. Now, the tenant farmers aren't fleeing at the sight of our colors. Word is spreading that the new Baroness is human.”

I leaned back, my eyes hardening. “Good. I’ve increased the pay for the guards who didn't participate in Viktor’s 'games' and dismissed the ones who did. Thorne is being watched—he’s too dangerous to leave, but too skilled to kill without cause. He’ll find his way out soon enough.”

Mira hesitated, her voice soft but curious. “What will happen to… him? To Viktor?”

“Viktor?” I let out a sharp, cold breath. “He’s exactly where he belongs. Rotting in the woods. Maybe the forest will teach him the humility we couldn't. Or maybe a direwolf will find him. Either outcome is acceptable to me.”

Lila entered then, carrying a tray of fresh pastries and fruit. She walked with a confidence I hadn't seen before, her head held high. “Breakfast, my lady. And thank you. Truly.”

I reached out and squeezed her hand. “You’re safe now, Lila. All of you are. That is the first law of this barony from this day forward.”

The hall felt alive. Windows were thrown open to let out the smell of stale wine and incense that Viktor favored. Plans were already being drafted to repair the irrigation systems and lower the grain taxes Viktor had inflated to pay for his debauchery. For the first time in years, the manor wasn't a prison; it was a home.

Viktor POV – That Night

The rain didn't just fall; it conquered. It poured through the gaps in the roof, dripping with cold precision directly onto my forehead as I tried to find sleep.

“Motherfucking piece of shit shack!” I bellowed, rolling my massive bulk off the soaked mattress with a wet, heavy slap. “I’m drowning in my own goddamn bed!”

Garrick and Bolen were huddled near the smoking fireplace, the smell of roasting rabbit filling the small room. They didn't even look up at my outburst.

“Should’ve brought your silk canopy, my lord,” Garrick called out over his shoulder. “Or maybe that fat gut of yours can act as a natural umbrella. It’s certainly big enough.”

“Keep talking, you twiggy fuck,” I snarled, slapping at a cluster of fresh mosquito bites on my thigh. My skin was a roadmap of red, angry welts. “One day, the scales will tip. I’ll be back on top, and we’ll see who’s laughing when I have the pair of you hung by your entrails from the manor gates.”

Bolen let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. “You? Back on top? With what army? Your tits?”

In a frenzy of rage and humiliation, I grabbed a heavy iron poker from the hearth and swung it wildly. The guards didn't even stand up; they simply leaned back as the metal whistled harmlessly through the air. They were still laughing as they stood up and walked into the rain to escape my tantrum.

Alone, soaked, and itching with a madness I’d never known, I collapsed onto a dry-ish patch of the floor. My breath came in ragged, wet wheezes that sounded like a broken bellows.

“I hate this,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “No food. No women. No respect. Just bugs, monsters, and two bastards who mock me every five minutes.”

A distant, guttural roar echoed through the trees—something far larger and hungrier than a wolf.

I shivered, the cold rain seeping into my marrow. I had underestimated the manor. I had underestimated how much the original Viktor’s status had padded his pathetic life. Out here, I wasn't a noble; I was a carcass in waiting.

But deep in the recesses of my mind—the mind of a man who knew how these stories ended—the gears were still turning.

I still knew the plot. I knew where the secret caches of gold were hidden. I knew the names of the Crimson Veil contacts—the shady underworld figures who would sell their own mothers for a drop of noble blood. I knew the "cheats" that would make even this bloated body a weapon.

“I’ll get stronger,” I growled, my nails digging into the itchy welts on my arms until they bled. “Or I’ll get smarter. And when I return… Sophia, Mira, every last one of you who laughed… you’ll learn that a wounded beast is the most dangerous kind.”

Another heavy drop of rainwater hit me square in the eye.

“Fuck this forest. Fuck my sister. And fuck this fat, useless body.”

I closed my eyes, drifting into a fitful sleep filled with dreams of gold, soft skin, and a day when the entire kingdom would regret throwing me away.

Just as I began to drift, a heavy thud sounded against the exterior of the lodge. Not the rain. Not the wind.

Something was scratching at the door.