Chapter 17
1081 Words
Marcello stared down at the girl with a searing intensity, equal parts curiosity and seething frustration coiling in his amber eyes.
The audacity.
She was nothing more than a pet an object to be tamed yet she carried herself like royalty. She should’ve been beneath his notice: filthy, pitiful, forgettable. And yet, this insufferable little creature had a strange, unshakable elegance. A wildness cloaked in poise. A spark that could set entire kingdoms ablaze if left unchecked.
No wonder his father had dragged her into this trial.
The old man knew just how much his sons despised the stench of humans, and yet he had placed her this rebellious little brat under their noses for two straight days. Marcello had gone hunting not for sport, but to escape the slow, grating torment of her presence.
But he knew his father too well. There was more to this than some sick game. Death wasn’t the only end the king had in mind. And the thought made Marcello’s blood burn.
That man was softening. Growing weaker. More tolerant of these disgusting, fragile things. It was exactly why Marcello would seize the throne when the time came so he could remind these humans of their place beneath Lycans.
“I believe you’re not capable of it, Mr. Prince,” she whispered, dragging his mind back to the present.
Her voice soft and dangerous cut through his focus like a blade.
His eyes darkened. He pressed her harder against the wall, his hand tightening cruelly around her delicate neck. Her head struck the stone behind her with a muted thud. Her skin was soft too soft and the contact only fed the storm swirling inside him.
Worse yet, she smelled good. Clean. Fragrant, like rain-washed flowers clinging to life in the mud.
Her large green eyes were wide with fear, her face flushed red beneath his grip, yet she didn’t resist. Her hands remained by her sides, clenched into fists but unmoving.
A bandage wrapped around one of them caught his attention. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he remembered now one of the guards had mentioned Mattia had broken two of her fingers.
Clearly, she hadn’t learned a damn thing.
Her eyes still blazed with defiance. He saw it, even through the flicker of terror she was trying so hard to bury.
And that only infuriated him more.
“Don’t get cocky, little tigress,” he murmured, voice low and rasped as he felt her throat move beneath his palm.
She flinched when he leaned in closer, body going rigid.
So his proximity rattled her. Good.
“I could have one of the guards slit your throat,” he said casually, letting the threat hang between them. “Then I’d kill the guard myself just for fun. And you? You couldn’t stop it.”
Her scent clawed at his nerves again, so he pulled back slightly. His gaze dropped to her face square-shaped, dusted with light freckles, her cheeks flushed pink. A button nose, high cheekbones, and those lips naturally red, likely from biting them too often.
But her eyes were the problem.
Large, round, and impossible to ignore. Deep emerald, framed by thick lashes and gently arched brows that matched the warm hue of her honey-blonde hair.
Marcello hated long hair. Or at least, he told himself he did.
But hers had a natural sheen, soft waves woven into a loose braid that still allowed thick strands to fall around her face. Even now her back pinned to the wall, his hand wrapped around her throat she looked… untouchable.
His gaze slid downward. The stark contrast between his tanned skin and her ivory throat was striking. His hand looked brutal against her too large, too rough. Her chest rose and fell with every strained breath. Her fists remained tight at her sides, though she made no move to strike or flee.
He didn’t care what lay beneath those clothes. He wasn’t here for that.
But her fire that was another story.
It stirred something darker in him.
“You can’t do that,” she rasped, the smallest edge of defiance threading her words now that his grip had eased.
She was small. Fragile. But her spirit refused to bend.
Most guards wouldn’t meet his eyes. Even Mattia, arrogant as he was, knew when to back down. Yet here she was this barely-human thing staring him down like he wasn’t the predator.
If it weren’t for this gods-damned trial, he would’ve buried her six feet under already.
“If you think the king is a fool, then you’re wrong,” she said boldly. “He chose me for a reason. Out of all the humans alive. You think I’ll die that easily?”
She dared to challenge him.
He yanked her forward by the collar, then slammed her back again with force. She let out a sharp gasp, biting her lip to keep the cry contained.
That’s when his claws emerged.
She froze. Her entire body stiffened as if her soul had been seized in a fist.
Golden flickers danced in his eyes as he stared down at her, face cold, merciless. Without a word, he pressed a claw beneath her collarbone and drove it in, just deep enough to puncture.
She didn't scream.
Blood welled and trickled down her chest. Pain lanced through her body like fire. Her chin trembled. Tears gathered but she kept her eyes closed, unwilling to let him see the agony that throbbed just beneath her skin.
Then he stopped.
Azzurra gasped as her lungs finally remembered how to breathe. Her shoulders sagged, and a tear slid down her cheek. She raised her hand to wipe it away
But he caught her wrist midair and slammed it against the wall beside her head.
Before she could react, he leaned down.
She froze.
Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked on his broad shoulder.
And then she felt it.
Warm. Wet. Unmistakable.
He was licking her blood.
Her heart tripped into a wild, erratic rhythm, thudding violently inside her chest.
Her stomach twisted. Horror crawled over her skin.
“No” she choked, shoving against him. Her small hands pressed against his chest, but he didn’t move.
She struck him again. And again. Fists weak, frantic.
He barely flinched. Only grunted, low and deep in his throat.
Then he kissed her skin just above the collarbone. A soft press of lips against raw, wounded flesh.
And Azzurra’s soul shattered all over again.
- Writer
