The Lycan's Desire

Episode 005

Althea awoke with a sharp jolt of the agonizing warmth that was flooding her, her flesh blazing inside and outside as the King emptied himself into her. She had been under his control for how long? She had no idea.

Sweaty, with heavy eyes, and tears of pleasure running down her cheeks. Her folds were wet, and the release of the King was still running through her. And the rut of the Lycan King had become something wild and daring and unexpected. The heat he had caused in her by his rut now made her desire him the most.

Deep, deep, profound, she wanted him to be deep, with each thrust pitting her walls, her womb, shuddering, screaming. She desired more, and he was giving it to her freely. She felt her nerves alive with pleasure and her body burning in ways she had never thought possible.

Each motion caused her walls to close about the length of Rafael. And as he made every thrust, a deep growl came out of his chest, primordial and animal. The bed was creaking with their weight, and Rafael walked brutally, violently. Her screams reverberated around the room and mingled with the beat of skin against skin.

Oh God... oh oh, she moaned as he fed on her. He had been half-shifted round. How frightening--how lovely, she wondered, he would be in broad daylight.

His hand reached out and caught her by the neck, and he hit her with unyielding force. Never-ending, her body rattled with the up and down movement of his hips. The head of Althea whipped round, and her breath gasped.

She had not yet taken him in full, but she felt him stroking each nerve within her. What if he pushed all the way? Could she even handle it? Once more, she rose to the highest point, and with lips parted, eyes shut, she screamed, but the King did not stop.

The following thrust was even deeper, and pain and pleasure were mixed in a manner that caused her to shout. His voice was low, animal, insistent: Rafael growled.

Stop... stop... m"I... I can't... I am so weary," she whimpered, wishing he could see how tired she was. She had a sense that her body was made of liquid, and it all gave in. What she needed was to sleep, to escape the burden of the world pushing in on her.

The King grumbled a little, and to his credit, he drew away. His hot body rubbed itself against her, an arm around her little body. He rubbed his nose against her skin, and shivers ran all through.

This time, a moan came out of her, which blended with the deep purr of Rafael. The shadow fell and she slept, half-waking, half-dreaming.

Time passed in a haze. Althea moaned as her body failed her, and heat flared anew. She did not know why she felt this way once again.

She opened her eyes and saw the massive figure of Rafael lying next to her. His arms around her, chest lifting and falling in slow and smooth time. Rafael Agbayani. His name was the forbidden melody sounding in her head.

Even when he was in the dark, she could hardly see his face, and it made her breathless. He was striking. Then it was no wonder that some said he was a beautiful devil--a sin in flesh, tempting, threatening. Yet fear didn't come. Not tonight.

The shaking hand of hers fell on his face. She hesitated, swallowed, and at last touched his skin with her fingers. A dim yellow light came in through the dark lines upon his face. Spellbinding. Irresistible. She wondered how he would appear all turned about, bigger than life, strong.

And as she followed the thick eyebrows, pushing aside hair to look, a smile stole over her lips. Streaky lash, jagged jaw, flattened nose, and lips, which caused her heart to skip. She never saw a prettier person.

She thought that — but then he opened his eyes — golden-red balls in the dark — and it broke her heart. He growled, furrowed his thick brows, and got out of the bed.

He caught her and tossed her in the air, burying her upper body into the mattress as her hips shot up to meet him.

Althea, your heart sinks, your heart winces. His movement brought back to her the thought of her peril--her position in his mercy. But she rebuked herself, and said that she allowed desire to deceive her, to forget his cruelty, and still.

His leaps were fierce, threatening, without gentleness. She screamed, filling the room with echoes.

"Ahhh!!"

Vera screamed through her room. She smashed a bottle of velvet wine on the wall, and the pieces fell on the floor. She passed her fine table and swept everything on it away with her hands.

Selene was watching and standing by the door.

Vera had been levelheaded and rational in the past. Composed. Strategic. The woman shuddered now, and anger and indignation scowled on her face.

"She begged for more?! w***e! w***e! w***e! Scream! Vera spits with a cracking voice. "Crying for him while I... I... I couldn't! How is that possible?" Her eyes shot at the old maid. "Is Rafael really in his rut?"

Yes, my lady, said Selene with calculated calm, bowing a little.

Vera took deep breaths with her eyes closed, trying to get herself together. She could not help trembling.

"Who was that slave?" Her voice lowered, and poison ran.

Lord Frederick took her up to the Citadel yesterday. She had turned her back on her pack and sold herself to the black market," Selene replied, still accurate.

"A traitor?" Vera hissed. The King... She lived in his rut, and she is a traitor? How?"

What would Rafael have done to know that she was not killed? Would he replace Vera as Luna? Would he divert his attention to this poor, enslaved person? Her mind was nibbled through by doubt.

"No. That can't happen. She must be dead before he wakes, she thought, then her teeth set more firmly, and her eyes flushed.

Selene lost composure and recomposed. It may be unwise to put her to the sword, my lady.

Vera spun, eyes wide. "Unwise? That vile enslaved person desired him! I craved him! Something that--his honest Luna--never could!

And that is the reason you must not act, replied Selene, speaking with calmness. We can know how she did it once she survives. Even the patience of a traitor is suggestive.

Vera grumbled deep in her heart and was not satisfied. Selene continued. The King forgets his rut, as a rule. We can pretend she is dead and make it appear that he killed another enslaved person, and nobody would ever suspect it.

The calculation came back to Vera, and her eyes dilated. A sneer came over her face. "Fine," she said. I will kill her... but not before I get my answers. She will start to torment her life by surviving.