Sorry for the long pause in uploading. I've been dealing with family issues that made it impossible for me to write and it was difficult to find the motivation to keep going after a while. Because of this, my posting schedule is going to change. It is still going to be weekly (no more two week long hiatuses for now) but I may only be able to post two chapters a week instead of three or four. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around and continued to read and support Forsaken Mate! I'm excited to share the next arc of the story with you all and hope you enjoy!
My whole body is exhausted. But he’s not stopping. Why isn’t he stopping? Why isn’t he as tired as I am? Where does he get the energy to torment me like this?“Keep your eyes on me,” his gruff voice drags me back into my overwhelmed body and I do my best to obey his command. I know better than to protest now.My legs feel detatched from my body. The only reason I know they are still on me is because I see them draped over Rafe’s broad shoulders. His head of dark curls is nestled between my thighs and his eyes burn up at me.He nips at my thigh before kissing the same spot.“Pay attention. I want you to watch me make you cum,” he growls. “I want you to see how much I enjoy you. How much I adore you.”“Rafe—”I’m breathless. His mouth covers me and I lose focus, my head falling back against the pillows. He’s been doing this for at least thirty minutes. It’s so good. My entire body is buzzing from pleasure as he sucks and licks and strokes me with his tongue.“Eyes. On. Me.”I’m trying.
All the exhaustion drains from my body instantly and I’m up on my feet. Rafe slides his massive shirt over my head and scoops me into his arms, racing toward the door. The smoke intensifies as we near the entrance to the room and he pauses for a split second before kicking through the door, out into the hallway.Madness. Sheer chaos.My head’s spinning but my senses sharpen as Milla wakes and rises to the surface.“What’s happening?” she asks. “I think Io is under attack, but—” That’s as far as I can go before Christobel wraps her hand around my wrist and starts dragging me down the hall under Rafe’s orders.The little Gamma pulls me along with all her might, which is strangely greater than I gave her credit for. I can barely keep my feet under me as I stumble along behind her. The lush, deep red carpet lining the hallway starts to chafe and burn my toes and heel from our sheer speed.“W-Wait!” I shout, pulling against Christobel.I didn’t mean to, but I’ve lifted her off her feet an
Everything will make sense. Nothing makes sense. Christobel is acting skidding, there are children crying, I can still smell smoke hanging heavy in the air, and all I want is to lay my eyes on my mate and know that he’s safe. Once I know he’s okay, then I’ll get my questions answered. Please let him be safe.Time makes no sense in this office. I know it hasn’t been hours since they closed those doors. The incessant ticking of the large clock on the desk punctuated the stifled silence and sniffles. I know we haven’t been here long. But restlessness eats away at me.More worries, fears, doubts twist my thoughts into a frenzy. Why would rogues attack Io? How often do these attacks occur? Is Rafe safe? What if the rogues hurt my mate?!Milla snarls in my mind.“That will never happen. We won’t allow it!”“I want to fight. I need to get out there and fight. I'm stronger than ever; I can help him,” I reply.In a rare feat, Milla and I are on the same page. We have to get out of this safe ro
I smelled him coming a mile away.My father only ever comes to see me when he reeks of cheap whiskey and rage. He needs a target to attack and someone to blame for all the various misfortunes of his life. I'm guilty of only having been born to the bitter tyrant.I press my face against the dingy wallpaper inside my run-down trailer tucked away in a corner. My heart pounds with an all too familiar dread, despite having endured this scene many times in my life. It's all burned into my body, like muscle memory.The sound of his heavy footsteps echoes outside with the uneven crunch of gravel under Deadrick Pride's stumbling gait. He's here for me, fueled by the liquor that consumes his inhibitions and ignites his rage.The trailer, my paper-thin sanctuary, closes in around me. Its walls, worn and rusted, bear the scars of countless altercations. The only physical evidence remaining of the many wounds inflicted by my father, my family, my pack. The half-broken windows allow slivers of moon
"Get up, bitch." Wesley sneers down at me, his voice dripping with venom. "Or do you need more time to finish crying to mommy dearest?" His words sting, but I'm used to them, along with his slaps, his kicks, his punches. His words are probably his weakest weapon, but that doesn't stop them from stirring something wounded within me. I pick myself up and get on my feet despite my aching, tense abdomen. I know the drill and keep my eyes lowered. Grit and bear it. That's all I have to do. Just grit my teeth and bear it. "Not much of a mother, though," he sniffs, circling me and her grave. "Took the first chance she could to leave you behind. I guess that's where you get that coward streak from." Wesley Wrest knows just what to say to cut me deep. He's had years of practice. Of course every insult and barb is carefully calculated to prick at my raw nerves. He also knows that I can't do anything against him. As the future Alpha of River Crest, he's already got more power than he knows w
If I were anyone else, I might have believed him. Might have believed he'd be gentle and let me go after and never bother me again. If I were someone else, I'd be stupid enough to see this as a chance to change my fortunes in River Crest. Maybe get into the future Alpha's good graces. But I'm not someone else. I'm Makayla Pride. I know there's nothing I could ever do to be free from this nightmarish hell. I know Wesley, Quinn, Russel, and the other three hiding out in the woods waiting for orders will never let me go unscathed. Even if I beg like he wants and give him my body. And because I am me, I know what's coming next. All I can do is relax and wait for it to pass. "You'll never get another chance like this, Pride." His thumb traces my bottom lip, and that flicker of insanity sparks in his eyes. His composure is cracking. "Beg me, and I'll make you feel like heaven." "Stop wasting your time on her, Wes. She's not worth it," Quinn snaps, crossing her arms over her chest like
Stepping out into the warm sunshine, I feel nothing but cold. A shiver runs through me when I see Deadrick Pride’s imposing figure looming at the end of the gravel path. A hint of anger still boils in his grey eyes as he approaches me at the bottom of my stoop. He barely surveys the damage he caused last night, grimacing as though the state of my home was the result of my shortcomings. Like the wreckage is proof I’m always at fault. How dare I not repair everything he ruined in mere minutes? Useless, stupid Makayla. Before he reaches me, I step forward and bow deeply, as is required for underlings when in the presence of pack leadership. Can’t say I hate it. It gives me an excuse to look away from his perpetually disappointed face. To meet his eyes would be like stepping into a minefield, so I keep my gaze lowered even after finishing the bow. Volatile doesn’t even begin to cover my father’s temperament, and there’s no way of knowing what will set him off. “You took your time,” he
I did my best to clean up the mess around my home. With so few possessions to destroy, it didn't take long for me to clear everything away or simply toss it in the trash. At least that's taken care of now. With my father's threats still hanging in the air like a guillotine blade, I retreat into my trailer. The wreckage remnants inside are too accurate a depiction of exactly how I'm feeling. Like the last pieces of my fragile sanity will soon splinter, broken windows beneath his heavy boot. But I can't dwell on it or anything else without potentially disintegrating under that very same boot. There'll be nothing left of me but dust and shards of what I used to be. Also, I don't have time to waste on metaphors and sadness. There's an event to prepare for—a mask to put on. It's a bit sickening, really, how I have to mold, shape, and scrape myself together to appease the same people who've spent my entire life tormenting me. All of this to survive. "Is it worth surviving?" The question