My mouth widens at his question, I want to question his audacity, but his newfound nearness permits me to see the burning anger in his gaze under the streetlights.
I have no obligation to answer him, yet my mind works feverishly at a defence.
What is this incessant need to pacify him despite his anger being none of my responsibility? Especially when his scent remains the culprit to why my centre remains moist.
I swallow dryly.
The last thought triggers my awareness of his sexual magnetism, his large build that teases at the warmth of his hold, and the startling intensity of his gaze.
I want to take a step back from him, but I am rooted in my spot by the part of me that longs to explore his features to discover how much I have missed in our time apart.
I recoil at my thoughts by turning away from him, desperate for the space to collect myself, but his hand grabs my arm and pulls my body towards his.
His hold is rough; why it thrills me can only be tied to my deviancy.
“What is it about that bastard that made you that way?”
His tone is rough and low as if his anger has melted into something else entirely—the same ‘something’ I mirrored dangerously.
“Which part of him aroused you? Or was it that you played naughty games under the table?”
When did I let him get close enough that I could smell the forest on him? That I could shudder from his warm breath against my ear as he whispered such nonsense.
"Is that something you should ask your sister?"
"Step.”
The Lycan growls in correction to my question, breaking the tension his own had cast.
My words must have pulled him back to his senses because he dropped his hold on me as if I were scalding water before taking two steps back and running his hand through his hair; the act made him look boyish. It reminded me of our days bathed in laughter, back when our relationship brought light to each other—when I could still call him Marko.
It takes less than a minute for his expression to turn fully stoic, making me doubt the bubbling heat that crossed between us, as if I were its only victim.
“The initial reason aside, the old Lycan is sick; he keeps asking for you. You should see him before he returns to the Goddess’s side.”
A laugh escapes me at his words, he means them sentimentally, but they feel like a joke.
“He is not my father, but yours. The only thing I came to Ketria with is my mother, yet she is the one thing I left without.”
His frown deepens at my response.
“Get over yourself; you both took as much as you got. He took care of you; you need to pay your respects to him.”
“You think I bear accountability towards his feelings? Towards your feelings? Even this; you stalking me, demanding my attention, invading my space, should not be happening. The only thing between us, Marko, is that we both hold some responsibility towards the death of each other’s mothers. I owe your father nothing, and you, even less. Go home.”
**
The Lycan let me walk away from him, but the fact that he now knows where I live, that he followed me, causes anxiety’s grip on my mind to tighten.
An hour had passed since he left my area of residence, but not before leaving one of his men behind. While he might claim it is for my security, I know he means to keep track of me.
I fling my duffle bag filled with bare necessities over my shoulder.
I cannot piece if he followed me because he sensed something more or if he truly wanted me to visit the old Lycan, either way, I only have the option of fleeing.
After scouting the movements of the guard left behind, I give my living room one last wistful glance before sliding through the fire escape and hailing the nearest cab to the train station.
It is ridiculous that I have to flee, that I have to uproot eight years of my life at his whims, but the risk he poses is too great.
What of the concoctions?
The thought crosses my mind inside the safety of the cab.
Were they not working? Had they forsaken me?
Violet’s clear instruction had been to consume only one per week. But…
My hesitation ceases when the memory of his rough hold pulling me into his hard frame sends delightful shivers up my spine; with a courageous breath, I down another bottle of the unpalatable concoction that burns through me.
The wave of nausea that floods through my body is the first admittance of my mistake, but as quickly as it washes over me is as quickly as the sensation fades.
“Just hurry up and die.”
I beg the beast inside me; if not for it, mother and I wouldn’t have left our initial pack, and she would never have fallen in love with Marko’s father.
All because of this damned monster.
**
The ticket in my hand trembles as sweat drips down my forehead.
I have never been to the destination on it; I only asked the ticket manager for one with the train leaving soonest. I thought the fact that the train station was deserted meant ‘soonest’ would be morning, but I was wrong; soonest was an hour.
My body’s heat rose intensely as my vision grew hazier by the minute; the sensations were frighteningly familiar, so requesting a personal cabin on the train had come easy.
I should not have taken the second dose, especially mere hours before the initial dose.
“Melvis County, ready to board on platform G.”
A voice announces repetitively, and though relief floods through me at the mild concept of privacy, I feel the familiar dawning of the crack of my bones.
Terror pierces through my spine as I stumble weakly to the correct platform; I offer my ticket to the conductor for confirmation before boarding the empty train to my cabin, only the doors shut too soon for my skittish senses to ignore.
My heart clenches at the menthol scent of pine and eucalyptus that followed the sound of the door.
I don’t know why, but tears flood my eyes at the looming despair.
“You are…entirely too predictable, Alba.”
At any other time, the words would have enticed a false bravado that I could use to talk my way out of this, but my reflection in the train windows warned me I was out of time.
My jaw hurts: the urge to stretch it is unbearable; the primal rage clawing through me yearned for me to toss my bag to the end of the path just to watch my items scatter.
The gold of my eyes was the first to give in as they reflected the lights in the station, enhancing my visions of midnight’s darkness to a degree I did not ask for.
The Lycan’s scent feels wonderfully cool against my burning flesh, he has yet to touch me, but I want to melt into him, to have him sink inside me, to have him etch his existence into me while I writhe in ecstasy.
I do not dare turn; I am not even certain I am breathing.
I should be furious that he invades my privacy again, but what I hold is more precious than my victory in an argument.
“Please…please pretend you-”
“You are my…mate?”
The interruption to my plea is as instant as my heart’s plummet to my belly.
Dropping my bag on the spot, I use every ounce of adrenaline in my system to dash towards the back of the train so I can leap onto the next segment, but he is faster, stronger than my breaking body.
His hand rams the metallic sliding door, destroying its sensor and trapping my body between the heavily dented metal and his.
The sound of my bones breaking echo through the air, and though I clench my jaw to keep from screaming at the all too familiar pain of untrained turning, there is little I can do about the tears that follow.
Why is it that he is always at the precipice of my unravelling?
But it is my fault; I should not have taken the second dose.
Of course…of course, I would cause my own demise. Just like back then…but what a cruel presence he holds, always the inciter with no willingness to bear responsibility for his inadvertent actions.
“Turning…? You have a wolf?”
The fury is evident in his growling voice as he supports my crumbling body.
I avoid the window before me and pin my gaze to the floor as my body betrays me; I do not want to see the disdain in his gaze at the Goddess’s game.
But he cruelly forces my chin, with ebony fur springing from it rapidly, to his reflection.
“You lied to me…lied to us!”
The fury on his face outweighs the disdain and confusion that laced his voice.
He does not let go of me; even as I finish my transformation, he lowers himself to my new height as a wolf.
I feel Kaisa nuzzle against his cooling hold as my consciousness recedes to give her full reigns.
I must be the only one with an untrained wolf at this age, the only one who does not share similar ideologies that would enable us to share consciousness simultaneously.
Then again, I do want her dead.
“How dare you...”
His accusation sounds distant as darkness claims me.
**
The sound of birds and the softness of silk against my flesh stir me from my dreams. The air smells crispier than usual.
Did it rain yesterday?
My hands hurt, the kind of dull pain that occurs from holding one’s position for too long, so I try to shift, but something hard and rattly holds me rigidly still.
I fuss again, but the sound only grows more persistent, so I open my eyes even though I do not wish to.
The iron bars before me jolt me into full alertness.
“No …no, no, no, no…’”
My gaze turns to my hands, but they, too, are bound to the wall.
“Fuck…fuck! fuck!”
A whimper escapes me as I struggle out of desperation despite an unwelcome understanding dawning on me; I am back.
Back to the very place that took everything from me.
Marko N. Ivanov “How could he do this? How could he do this to me?” Mother’s scream was audible through the halls, each question perfectly punctuated by the shattering of more hallway décor. With a mere announcement, the most regal wolf in the kingdom was reduced to hysterics—a sight he had never witnessed before. The butler was the first to shield Marko from the ferocious howls that followed. This act added to his tension by confirming that what was indeed wrong was diabolically irreparable. "Is there some sort of proof that they are mates?” His question came off with more emotion than he, as the heir to the throne, was permitted to portray. "His-" The butler hesitated, gazing left and right as though he was about to utter words that would endanger his life. “His majesty was the one to proclaim that, so we must believe his words. Even the elder council remains in disarray.” "What of mother? What becomes of her now?" That wasn’t what he wished to ask; what he meant to ask wa
"Did...did you just-" His heavy hand descends on my flesh once again before my question about the action’s occurrence solidifies. He...spanked me? The chain hanging from my freed hand is heavy; only his restrictive support permits it to stay above my head. Swinging it to his face is just as impossible as prying my hands from his hold. Again his hand falls upon my flesh, striking with such precision the spot that has just begun to heat as if intending my skin to blister. Why? Why does he only strike one place? "Are you ...in-insane?" Again, his hand falls on me, and a whimper escapes me this time. “Stop! You bast-!” Again…the same spot, effectively cutting my curse in its course. "Apologise." I don’t want to…! I struggle against his hold, and he seems to take that as my answer, so again, his hand falls on the precise sensitised spot that feels seconds away from searing. "Sorry." I utter quickly in such a low voice that his breathing could swallow its utterance. I did no
Alba’s blood purifies toxins. Marko repeated the thought in his head as if he could have misheard it. Suddenly, sitting felt like the worst position, so he stood, yet his legs felt too restless to keep still. Before long, he was pacing, trying his best to piece the information coming his way with his stirring emotions, but when he finally failed, he turned to the physician. “Explain it in a way that I can understand.” “Well!” She began excitedly with no heed to his tension. “When you first brought the former princess to me, every test I did said she overdosed on wolfsbane, but she was still alive, which is impossible! She should have died ten times over with the amount in her blood; that’s when it hit me; the amount of wolfsbane in her body was the reason she turned! Like an adverse reaction because her wolf form purifies faster.” Sharon paced as she prattled on words that did not make sense to him. Wolfsbane? Overdosed? What the hell? What more did Alba keep from him? “Get
“How long have I been asleep?” The question slips from my lips as I struggle out of bed. “A little over a week.” A week? “I have never even had a nosebleed before,” I mutter as my feet hit the cold floor. A week has passed, and I am still in the silk gown, only now it is peppered in crimson droplets throughout its length. “Wow, your regeneration must be fast despite the wolfsbane in your system; imagine how it will be without?” I still at her cavalier words. I am uncertain when she started writing, but she scribbles furiously on her notepad while addressing me, almost as though she is studying me. “Wolfsbane?” Did I mishear her? “Yes! There was a ton of it in your system.” If she knows that, then…doesn’t his majesty? Good god, why is this happening? I am almost glad I insisted she doesn’t call him, but how much time will prepare me for what he intends with me now that my cards are on the table? “Is that why I collapsed?” “Partly,” She began. “Well, I think so. You we
"I will." His answer comes with no hesitation that it stings despite the ‘rejection’ being my suggestion. I can understand his clarity; the outcome of our situation as 'stepsiblings' and ‘royals’ is inevitable. Yet even if we did not have those barriers to hide behind, I am certain rejection would have been the outcome; we are but a match made in hell. “Good.” I respond, hoping no emotion laces my voice. “I’d like to bathe; give me space.” He does not budge; he merely shakes his head from left to right and points to the bathroom. Great. I do not blame him for not trusting me; the thought of escape has not entirely left my mind. Any other time, I would have sassed him into submitting to my demand for bathing privacy, but I can feel tears whose origin I cannot fully place threaten to flood my eyes, so before they grow noticeable, I rush to the bathroom and shut the door to lean on it as they spill. Utterly ridiculous that I can feel this deeply over nothing, yet even my express
Crazy. The Lycan has gone crazy...yet- Yet what? My hesitation is proof that he has not used his Lycan ability that makes wolves follow his command; but it is the forwardness, the simple desperation in his voice that makes me consider dropping my throbbing hand; yet if we solidify our bond in such a fashion, doesn’t that only spell misfortune? "No." In my head, my voice is firm, so why did it come off as a whisper? "Why?" The Lycan’s voice is rough as he asks the question as if he bore innocence to how twisted we make each other grow. 'Why?' I played with his question again in my mind. How many reasons did he have the time for? The first would be that I do not trust him. The second is that I do not have enough information on what he does or does not know about me; other than my wolf purifies and that I dosed in wolfsbane, what else is he withholding? The man I know, the man I ran from, is vindictive, so if there is more, I need it on the table. All of that aside, there is
The Lycan’s hold on me had lessened, and I could no longer hide my arousal behind his aggression.After his trace of my bruised buttock, his restless hand lifts my hoodie, which matches the pants pooling on my ankles, to expose my chest to him. He tugs my bra low, settling my breasts atop them and while I wait for him to grant my stiff peaks attention, he doesn’t; it is as if he only meant them for his view."Please."I whisper, hoping he would, at the very least, soothe the rising need that threatened to claim the very air from my lungs; I almost sigh in relief as he presses his lips to my nipples, rubbing his softness against their stiffness so steadily that I hold my breath, ready for the feel of his warm moist tongue, only it doesn't come."You know what I want.”He whispers his response with his face buried in the softness of my bosom as he once again inhales me.“Call out the name of the man you deem disappointing.”I bite my tongue to stop myself from yielding to his demand; we
I am grateful for the brief rain that followed our arrival to the capital; it washed our trail. Lucky for Kaisa and me, there seemed to be a night market or some festival at the capital’s heart, so the hope for finding a good deal on the kind of garment that would maintain my anonymity soared. An hour passed, and not to seem like an airhead, but while I found the cloak, I forgot that Ketria used a different currency system. So, in essence, I was gifted a coat by a mother who thought I resembled a beggar because of the mud coating my garments. When I tried to tell her that I would repay her, she gave me a pitiful look as if to say, 'oh...you poor dreamer, life is harsh'; so, in a sense, she lost respect for me twice—oh, not twice because I had to borrow fare to head to the mountains afterwards. The embarrassment coursing through me is palpable, but what makes it worse is the harsh realisation that the Lycan took everything from me; my phone, wallet, passport, clothes...I have nothin