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11
The darkness in the room felt like sensory deprivation to Leya.
It was blacker than black, unable to see anything but hear the faint rumbling of noise in the background like a rushing stream. Unable to catch a sliver of sleep, she rolled onto her back and fiddled with the blanket that rested over her abdomen.
Lightning flashed white, briefly brightening the room, and in it, she grew acutely aware of the man that slept on the floor.
Kairo.
He had been adamant about sleeping in her bedroom, and she did allow him albeit with a firm rule of not sharing the same bed. He had taken to the floor after a brief unintelligible argument with a disdainful grunt but still mildly happy by the fact that they shared the same room.
Apologies for the delay, I've been having exams. 2 more chapters will be posted this week. Consider leaving a review if you're enjoying the story so far.
Carrel
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*slams chapter down on your table* done. enjoy. Shoot. Trapped within the confines of her truck, Leya gazed out the windshield at the two males. Despite the distance, she felt the tension, cold as ice, press on her skin like a blunt steel blade. Her heart did something wicked in her chest, momentarily forcing a smatter of bile to rise her throat and she tasted the bitterness with absolute clarity. Holland stood stiffly before Kairo. The breadth of his shoulders was drawn taut like an overstrung bowstring, stretching the material of his shirt. One hand rested on his waist where the Glock’s glimmering handle protrudes. Leya knew that stance.
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*slams down next chapter on your table* *looks you in the eye* you're welcome Scarcely had there been a moment in Kairo’s life when he thought that he had done something wrong. That he was doing something wrong. His moral compass was true North, his ability to determine wrong from right was always a sharply honed blade that drew a firm line on the sand between. The last time he had done something wrong, something so vile, unforgivable, had ended with him punished, raped, and cursed for all eternity. A wretched thing he was, forced to walk the earth with no sense of humanity and forever a beast without memory. He thought that had been the worst day of his life.
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Leya releases a soft hiss— like hot water falling on iced rocks, as the cotton swabs gently on her cheek. She presses harder, grinding her teeth back and forth while dabbing at the small cut.It was barely perceptible, yet the pain and shame swathed over her shoulders like a blanket that weighed her down.Her reflection squinted back at her, a soft sheen of water still glossing her skin from the brief shower. Hair damp and hanging in loose dark tendrils about her shoulders.Leya lowered the bloodied cotton and tilted her cheek this way then that, studying the damage on either side.It had been eight hours since the incident; Kairo Pressing her into the corner, his hand caging her face in a grip that frighteningly reminded her of someone else, his claws extended and digging, digging.He had hurt her.And she had cowered away, stripped of all the years it had taken to cultivate a firm exterior, all the nights spent willing her mind to ne
The Cursed Lycan 01
warning; nonconsent There is a mute sort of pleasure found lying in one’s own filth - defecation and urine leaving bodily imprints on the cold concrete floor. The whip marks are still fresh and open, raw gilded flesh hanging from the body like feathers from a dreamcatcher, slowly weeping blood. "Mother." The only constant sound in the swallowing darkness is that of a sentenced prisoner, somewhere in the dungeon's corner. Like a reminder, it keeps Kairo's fading mind straight while he teeters on the brink of absolute insanity. A steep fall he knew he’d approach soon enough. His body burns and aches in regions he did not know existed. The length of his back, which was once clothed in royal robes, is now bare and slick with divine blood; his torso is matted with blackening bruises and skin protrusions along the dome of his ribcage, indicating just how many bones had been fractured, the ragged edges now pressing against the barr
The Cursed Lycan 02
The wintry morning wind presses gently on Leya's numb red cheek, soft wisps of dark hair falling over her scrutinizing bright cerulean eyes. With a petulant huff, she blows the dark curl away only for gravity to place it back in position. Leya sighs into the autumn air, a small cloud of mist swirling tentatively over her flushed lips. She sniffs once and adjusts the heavy camo jacket she wears, snow crunching noisily beneath her figure as a result. For once, Leya does not mind the disruptive noise as she had been crouched on her belly in the same position for three gruelling hours. The Forest had been silent, so much so she checked her hearing aids just to confirm that they indeed still worked. The previous night's Blizzard had settled into a soft hiss of snowflakes falling sporadically and scarcely over the bare woodlands. Winter would be arriving and most wild animals, at least the large ones, would have either migrated or holed up i
The Cursed Lycan 03
The axe swings hard, flashing silver through the thin wintry air before making contact with the tree trunk. The impact sends a violent shudder up Leya’s arms, rippling like dark wings along her shoulder blades and meeting at the base of her spine.Her flushed lips part in an exhale of light air, doodles of faint clouds escaping into the afternoon air and she steps back to squint up at the tall tree. Precariously, it leans on one tenuous end before tilting backwards with a final groan of submission.It creaks whilst falling, the crashing sound thundering through the forest as birds squawk and soar from their nests in fright - but Leya doesn’t hear them. In such moments, she would have yelled a theatrical ‘Timber!’ as most lumberjacks do, but the silence she finds herself in is comforting and her body feels achy like a whipped dog, throat parched from the day's work.She releases the axe handle and treads towards the felled tree. The heavy
The Cursed Lycan 04
Leya knows she is hearing things, perhaps even seeing things out of the corner of her eye, for her power of observation developing fully in the woods is triggered by stimuli so slight as to be subliminal, nagging her nerve endings, forcing her to clutch the rifle even tighter in her cold, trembling hands.The snow is heavy, pounding on her drenched head like a hammer, beating down her clothes, trailing down her face and into her eyes.She blinks and purses her lips while slowly swiveling around; the rifle’s stock rests firmly on her shoulder, her clammy cheek pressing stiffly on the bolt handle. Leya trudges through shallow puddles of melted snow and rain, the wind a sadistic, menacing force that whips at her face with delight. Her boots step over wet leaves and crunching snow, and she uses the rifle’s muzzle to nudge aside low h
The Cursed Lycan 05
Lying beneath broken mosaic patterns of autumn’s withering leaves, Leya feels something rough brush on the tip of her nose. The dull, dappling sun spots purple and black hues under her dark eyelids. Her eyes shift back and forth restlessly, soot-black lashes fluttering when the rough tongue is replaced by an insistent, cold paw on her cheek, her nose, her eye. Meow. Mustard’s impatient noises pull her from her state of unconsciousness on the forest floor. He whines again, bending low to bop the soft crown of his face on hers, rubbing, purring, then meowing his demands for his unusually late breakfast. Leya stirs with a sibilant intake of breath, eyes peeling open just as the cat rubs his face on hers once more. He bares his teeth as if threatenin
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