A Gift for the Three Alpha's

Chapter 14: Appetite

Lyra's heart began to race as the reality of Izzy's words sank in. The new dress. The perfume. The bath. All of it had been preparation for this.

She rushed through the bathing room, her movements frantic and desperate. "Tell him I am sick," she begged Izzy, grabbing the girl's arms. "Please, you have to tell him I cannot go. Tell him I am ill."

But Izzy's face had gone pale. She shook her head slowly. "Everyone has heard of the people killed by the brothers when they are refused. I cannot lie for you, Lyra. I cannot risk my life."

Izzy was afraid, no terrified and despite her sympathy, she could not help.

Instead, the girl tried to prepare Lyra mentally for what was coming. She explained the process in clinical detail, her voice low and hurried. How it would feel. How long it might last. How to minimize her own pain by remaining still, by not resisting, by accepting what was happening.

"Do not fight him," Izzy whispered. "The more you resist, the angrier he becomes. Just let him do what he needs to do and it will be over faster."

The advice made Lyra burn with rage. She wanted to fight. She wanted to resist with every fiber of her being. But she could not. She could not risk exposing the military training her family had given her, could not reveal anything that might suggest she was not the broken Omega they believed her to be.

So she swallowed her anger and let Izzy escort her through the palace corridors toward Darius's private chambers.

When they arrived at his door, Izzy squeezed her hand one final time. "Good luck," she whispered, then turned and walked away, leaving Lyra alone in the darkened hallway.

Before Lyra could even raise her hand to knock, the door swung open.

Darius stood there in loose, dark clothing, his massive frame filling the doorway. His dark eyes swept over her, taking in the transparent dress, the perfume, the careful preparation.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside.

Lyra entered, and her breath caught.

The room was lined with candles, and a table laden with food occupied the center of the space. Roasted meats, fresh bread, fruits, cheeses, and wine. So much food, more than she had seen in days.

"Sit," Darius commanded, gesturing to a chair.

Lyra sat, and he began to fill a plate for her. Fresh meat, soft bread, ripe fruit. He set it in front of her and watched as she began to eat, her hunger overwhelming her caution.

She thought, for a moment, that perhaps he was trying to be romantic. That perhaps there was kindness in this gesture, that perhaps she had misjudged him.

But when she finished the plate, he filled it again. And again. Each time she cleaned her plate, he loaded it with more food, more portions, more than she could possibly eat.

"I cannot," she gasped, her stomach painfully full. "Please, I cannot eat anymore."

"You will eat," Darius said coldly. "I cannot have you fainting during s*x. You need your strength."

The romance evaporated in an instant. She understood then. This was not kindness. This was calculation. He was preparing her like livestock, filling her belly so she would not pass out from weakness while he used her body.

Disgust rose in her throat, mixing with the food she had consumed.

She refused to take another spoonful, setting down her fork and turning her head away from his offering.

Darius's expression hardened. Without warning, he swept his arm across the table, sending plates and food flying across the room. Dishes shattered against stone, and the smell of roasted meat and spilled wine filled the air.

He grabbed Lyra by her hair and dragged her to his empty chair. She struggled against his grip, but he was far too strong. He forced her to her knees in front of him, his hand already unlacing his pants.

"Open your mouth," he commanded.

Lyra tried to resist, tried to clench her jaw, but he grabbed her chin and forced it open. His c**k was already hard, already pressing toward her mouth. She tried to turn her head away, but his grip was unbreakable.

He pushed himself inside her mouth, and she gagged at the sudden intrusion. He was large, and he gave her no time to adjust. He began to move immediately, thrusting deep into her throat with brutal force.

"That is it," he growled. "Take it all."

Lyra tried to fight him. She clawed at his thighs, tried to pull away, but he held her head in place. The food in her stomach made movement difficult, made it impossible for her to use any technique or strategy to ease the assault.

Then something shifted inside her.

His c**k hit a sensitive spot in her throat, and pleasure shot through her like lightning. Her body betrayed her completely. Instead of continuing to fight, she began to give in. She began to move with him instead of against him, began to take him deeper.

She hated herself for it. She hated the way her body responded to him. She hated that even in this violation, even as he used her mouth like it was nothing more than a receptacle for his pleasure, some part of her wanted more.

He groaned, his movements becoming more erratic. His grip on her head tightened, and his hips thrust forward with increased urgency. Then he came, forcing her to swallow every drop, choking her as his climax overtook him.

When he finally released her, Lyra pulled back, gasping for air. Her eyes were watering, and her throat was raw from the assault.

She lowered her gaze, trying to hide the shameful arousal that was coursing through her veins. Her body was flushed, her breathing heavy, her thighs slick with moisture.

But Darius could smell it. His nostrils flared as he caught her scent, and a dark smile spread across his face.

"You enjoyed that," he said, not as a question but as a statement of fact.

He rose from his chair and moved to his bed. From beneath the mattress, he produced chains – heavy iron restraints with manacles designed to hold a werewolf's wrists. He grabbed her arm and secured one manacle around her wrist, then pulled her toward the bed and secured the other manacle as well.

She was trapped, completely at his mercy.

Lyra looked at him, her heart pounding in her chest. "I am ill," she said, her voice hoarse from what he had just done to her. "I do not think I should –"

"You are not ill," Darius said flatly. "You are weak. And I will take care of that."

He stepped back from the bed, and Lyra watched as he began to undress. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the scarred landscape of his chest. Then his pants fell away, and he stood before her completely naked.