Page 52 of Marked By Feral Monsters
The orc couple exits the market right behind me, holding hands and still leaning into each other, a bag of what is likely their dinner plans swung over his shoulder. My heart aches at the sight. I don't think I've ever gone shopping with anyone before, not even for groceries. Couples often complain that all relationships eventually end up being two people asking each other what they want to eat until they die.
They don't know how good they have it.
I scrub a hand over my face and make my way home, where I cook an elaborate dinner, putting in extra effort to take care of myself, but it doesn't help my mood. I go to bed early for the first time in a while, disappointment crushing my spirits, and I pass out not long after the sun goes down, not once thinking about Zair.
It was then that, on the verge of giving up, something wakes me from a deep sleep.
I rub my eyes, wondering what the noise was that startled me awake. A low hum buzzes through my body, increasing in intensity the longer I lie there in wonder. I glance around the room, confused. It's dark; the only light peering in past the curtains is from the streetlights and the waxing moon.
It wasn't just me, shaking, I realize. The bed is shaking. The bedside table and the lamp, rattling on the edge, shook with the vibration.
Maybe it's an earthquake, I think absently, but that can't be right. The rattling slows before picking up again, in a strange pattern. Throwing back the covers, in my matching silk pajama set, I slide my feet into my bamboo slippers, then tiptoe out of my bedroom. The rumbling grows louder.
But then it stops in quick succession, almost like the sound is… laughing?
Just as the strange thought crosses my mind, I'm mid-turn, about to investigate further, when massive, rough hands snag me and lift, slamming my back against the wall.
I let out a grunt before the hands, which almost completely encircle my waist, paw at my body, moving down to squeeze my generous ass and hips, while what feels like a concrete chest and thick, tree trunk legs, block me from running away.
The shadowy outline of a minotaur with long, curling horns, wide shoulders, and the fucking terrifying face of a bull with huge, snarling sharp teeth, crowds me, holding me in place, andI let out a scream. I try to scramble out of his grasp, but his massive palm wraps around my mouth, silencing me.
"Shut the fuck up," he growls. And there's that rattle again. It's deep, reverberating. It shakes the pictures on the walls.
My heart hammers in my chest while his claws bite into my cheek, his thick body pinning me in place. My legs dangle uselessly, slippers falling off, while his hold on me tightens.
I suck in sharp breaths while my eyes dart around, cataloging his features: long, curling gray horns jutting from his head, golden bullnose ring, a vicious, snarling maw with sharp teeth, too close for comfort—closer than I've ever been to a monster.
It honestly takes me a second to remember I hired him. I wasn't expecting him to come in like this, to scare the shit out of me. Which was the point, right? Except this doesn't feel safe at all.
With one hand tucked over my mouth, he lifts me like I'm a rag doll and drags me into the bedroom, then throws me onto the mattress. I bounce twice before trying to scramble away, but he's faster than me.
This whole situation I put myself into is so fucking stupid and unsafe. Worse, the harder I fight, the louder he laughs, and that same rumble, some magical minotaur trait I'd never known existed, flows out of him, shaking everything in the room. Shaking me.
I kick at him, but he grabs each of my ankles with no effort at all, and the realization that I really fucked up this time wraps like a fist around my throat, nearly suffocating me.
He snarls, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, dark eyes alight like he's fucking enjoying this, and somehow—maybe because of the gleam in his expression—a precious, vibrant, exciting feeling soars through me, too. Everything inside me swings wildly, like a pendulum, toppling my shitty week, hell, the last few years, under his crushing weight.
This is what I want. What I've needed. To lose control. To be too scared to think properly.
Still, I'm too Type A to surrender so easily.
So I try to pull away, grabbing hold of my pillow to throw at him, but he tugs me again, and the pillow knocks the lamp off the bedside table. I'm ashamed when my first thought is how I need to get up and clean the mess.
"You're a fun little treat, aren't you? All that wild heat hidden beneath an icy shell."
He growls again, but changes the cadence, focusing the vibration solely on my body. I feel that shit in my core. I moan when the vibration travels down my body to my clit, but he tugs on my ankles again, and snaps, "Now stop making a fucking mess and be quiet before I punish you."
The threat has me fighting against his hold, and I try to wiggle away from him, my betraying pussy getting slippery, my pelvis pressing up, seeking relief, but I don't stop struggling. I haven't been this wet, this turned on in ages. And I don't think I've ever been this scared.
"If you scream again, I'll slit your fucking throat. Then I'll shove my cock deep in the gaping wound and come while you bleed to death."
Those words should have me screaming at the top of my lungs.
His voice is rough, and there's a promise of violence in his eyes. His fingers wrap around my mouth again, claws scratching my cheeks. I wouldn't be surprised if they left a small trail of blood where they dig into my skin. When he releases, I gasp for breath, my eyes watering, but I don't run away like I should.
"I—" I start, but he reaches back and slaps me across the face. It stings, and I cry out.
"I said, shut the fuck up," he growls. Then he climbs off me, and in one dramatic whoosh, rips all the blankets and sheets offthe bed. Grabbing each of my ankles, which now feel bruised from all the manhandling, he drags me effortlessly to the edge of the bed, then grips the tops of my pajama pants and rips them in half. The material scrapes down my thighs as he tears it off my body, doing the same to my nightshirt. The clothing is expensive, and for a moment, that's where my mind goes—the clothing, the lamp, all these messes and broken things.
