Page 34 of Lycan King's Captives
I hastily step over the threshold, wondering now if I was safer there. I walk in, my body trembling from the cold and humiliation. As I turn back to speak, he slams the door in my face and locks it, leaving me alone once again.
The sound of the lock clicking into place echoes through the room like a death bell calling for me, and I sink to the floor, my heart aching from the pain of Xandros’s rejection and the crushing weight of my own shame. My loneliness feels like a living thing, wrapping its icy fingers around my heart and squeezing until I can hardly breathe.
The bond calls for its mate. How is one expected to live like this? It’s vile and degrading, heartbreaking. Never in my life have I felt so weak, so small and it’s not even my fault. The stupid bond beating inside me calling for that monster.
My soul dependent on him, it’s truly sickening. I’d rather hate him then long for him; the bond could at least offer that small reprieve.
Unable to handle the empty, noiseless room, I decide to shower, yearning for the sensation of warm water to envelop my skin like a comforting embrace. A whimper escapes my lips as I place my hand under the water and find the water is hot. A small luxury, one I won’t take for granted ever again.
Stepping under the water, it cascades down my body, washing away the dirt, the grime, and some of the humiliation I’ve been through.
If only it would wash away the bond and snuff it out of existence.
Cupping my hands under the water, I gulp it down greedily, letting the warmth seep into my bones and thaw my chilled insides. The scent of soap fills the room, along with my blood as it cascades from my hairline and from my face.
I scrub my blood-caked nails; it becomes an obsession as I try to remove the dirt and blood under them. I scrub myself raw, my skin burning with ferocity. Then I just stand there, staring at the tiled walls as if they alone will crack open and give me the answers I am so desperately wishing I had. Like how I can be blamed for my parents’ actions. That makes no sense to me.
As the water runs over me, it feels like a baptism, a desperate attempt to cleanse myself of the unbearable pain I’ve endured. When I step out of the shower, I wrap a towel around myself and wander into the walk-in closet. I find some clothes and discover a shirt belonging to Xandros. It smells like him. One part of me wants to shred it because it reminds me of him. Another part of me wonders if it will help soothe the ache of the bond, so I slip it on, his scent does seem to help some, but not much. However, right now, any victory shall be celebrated no matter how small; even if it is only a shirt that stops the niggling longing even briefly.
Wrapped in the remnants of his scent, I feel both comforted and tormented by his absence. I venture out of the bathroom, searching for a way to warm the frigid room.
I find a small box of matches and huddle around the fireplace, desperately trying to ignite the wood. It’s futile. The fire keeps going out, and I feel a surge of frustration, my desperation mirroring the dying embers. Striking the match once again, I hear the door handle twist, making me freeze as I turn my head.
Suddenly, the door opens. Xandros returns, and I freeze as I watch him pace, his every movement exuding anger and tension when my fingers suddenly burn, making me shake the match and drop it when it burns my fingers.
His presence is like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive. I can feel the bond more intensely now, and it’s as if it’s tearing me apart from the inside wanting to get to him.
He starts rambling, his voice strained with the weight of his emotions. “This bond... It’s unbearable.” He grits his teeth, clenching his fists.
“I hate you, and still, I’m cursed to crave you.” He grasps his hair and crouches on the spot, his breathing heavy. “How is that even possible?” he murmurs, then growls furiously.
“How can you have such a hold on me?” he snarls, lifting his head to glare at me. I remain silent, watching him as he struggles with his conflicting emotions. His anguish is a reflection of my own.
He then gets up, walking to his bar area, which I forgot about in my desperation to start the fire. He snatches a half-drunk liquor bottle, twists the cap off, and drinks from it, his eyes trained on me as he does. I stare at him like a deer in headlights.
He drains the bottle, and I sigh. I could have made better use of it by setting this fire, I think dryly.
“I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept in days. All I can think about is how you betrayed me. How you’re the daughter of monsters!” I flinch at his anger as it spews out of him and he tosses the liquor bottle, it smashes against the walls, the sound hurting my ears as it shatters, making me clutch them.
“All I can fucking think about is how much I want you.” He smashes the room up in a fit of rage, tossing the furniture as if it weighs nothing as he stalks toward me. His fury is a whirlwind of destruction that leaves me trembling with fear. I whimper, and he turns his attention to me. My eyes widen at my mistake, and I jump to my feet.
The storm in his eyes suddenly becomes more intense and frightening. When he grabs me, “This is your fucking fault!” He shakes me then he kisses me, pawing at my shirt, his touch rough and demanding. “Xandros!” I shriek when he rips my shirt.
“You’re hurting me,” I tell him. My voice is barely a whisper, but it’s as if he doesn’t hear me. “I want to sleep; I need sleep,” he tells me, his voice desperate and raw.
“I need you.” He kisses me again, and as much as I want to hurt him, I can’t seem to deny the bond when instinct takes over, and I kiss him back, hoping he’ll see I’m not my parents, hoping he’ll soothe my aching bond.
He clutches me to him, kissing and licking me as he walks me backward. The back of my knees hit the bed, and I fall back onto it. Xandros stares at me hungrily, and I reach for him, seeking some semblance of comfort in the storm of his emotions.
Instead, he grips my ankles and flips me onto my stomach, dragging me to the edge of the bed. I push up off the bed, my toes digging into the carpet when he shoves me back down before undoing his pants and entering me from behind roughly.
Sparks rush over my skin, at his touch despite it being harsh, and I try to pull away and turn, wanting to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin against mine, but he won’t let me.
His thrusts are rough and unyielding. Once he’s done, he leaves me there, exposed and used, like a discarded toy. “This changes nothing. You’re still a traitor, and I will never forgive you.” The words are like shards of glass, cutting deep into my already wounded heart.
He then leaves before I can even turn around to face him. The door clicks shut, and I sink to my knees, realizing I’ve been reduced to a bed toy.
I drag the blanket off the bed, wrapping it around myself and moving back to the fireplace, and picking up the box of matches to find only one left. I wish he could have at least started the fireplace for me or offered a kind word, some insignificant gesture to ease the unbearable pain that consumes me.
