BODY AND SOUL: HIS TO RUIN

Fighting for her

Two weeks in.

The past few nights had blurred into a terrifying, intimate routine. Each time, he had come, a silent, powerful force, driven by a need that was both terrifying and, to my shame, increasingly compelling.

Drew and the Dowager still stood to watch. I had seen Drew stroking his c**k too. And I had heard him saying… “Mother, is it a taboo if I join him?”

“Not really, Drew! But Drake needed the power,” the Dowager had responded.

Sometimes, Drew didn't come. Just the Dowager.

Each time, just as his body shuddered into release, just as I felt the hot, liquid proof of our connection, he’d stir, a low groan escaping him, a nascent apology forming on his lips. “I'm sorry!”

But before the words could fully coalesce, the Dowager’s sharp voice would cut through the haze, "No apologies, son! Remember yourself!"

And I? I had learned. My moans and my gasps were always met with her barking command, "Silence! Remember the contract, omega!"

But I was enjoying the s*x. Even though I was sore.

***

One morning, I sat in my room. My cage. A gilded cage with plush furnishings and heavy velvet drapes. The television glowed, a window to the outside world, a world I was both part of and utterly excluded from.

Drake was on the news. Councilman Drake Fur, the resurrected leader. He was on a campaign, charming, powerful, speaking to crowds.

The reporter called it a bid for "City Mayor," but I knew the truth. All werewolves knew. To our kind, it was the Lycan King's seat. The one who will control the supernaturals and keep the secret from the outside world, from humans and hunters.

He looked vibrant and active on the stage, his eyes sharp, his movements fluid. It was unsettling. That renewed vigor, that undeniable charisma—it was all me. My life, my essence, flowing into him.

I walked to the ornate mirror on the far wall, my movements slow, hesitant. My reflection stared back, pale and drawn but otherwise outwardly unchanged. Not yet.

“The aging is within,” the Dowager had said.

Was it already happening, a subtle decay my eyes couldn’t yet perceive? I traced the faint lines under my eyes, searching for new wrinkles, for some visible sign of the life being siphoned from me. Nothing obvious. Not yet. The fear was a cold knot in my stomach.

I sank onto the chaise lounge, picking up the heavy, old-fashioned phone. It was the only line in the room, wired to call one number: my mother’s. My fingers trembled as I dialed. It rang once, twice, and then my sister’s bright voice answered.

"Isadora! Oh, thank the Goddess, you called!" Her voice boomed.

"How is she? Mother?" I whispered. My heart pounded for good news.

"She’s… she’s wonderful, Izzy! The surgery was a complete success! The best doctors, just as they promised. She’s resting now, but the fever is gone, and the pain is less. She’s going to be okay!"

My sister’s joyful tears were audible and infectious.

Tears streamed down my face, a mix of profound relief and crushing sorrow. "Oh, thank you, Goddess. Thank you," I choked out, a raw, heartfelt prayer. "Tell her… tell her I’ll be back soon. To check on her. Soon." The lie tasted like ash. Soon. When would 'soon' be? When I was drained, disposed of?

The line went dead, leaving me in the silence of my luxurious prison. I cried then, truly cried, the silent sobs I’d stifled during the ritual finally breaking free, wracking my body. My mother was safe. Her life was secured. But at what cost? My own.

Late that night, the heavy door to my room groaned open. I tensed, my body instantly preparing for the inevitable.

The Dowager stood there. "Go in," she commanded. “You need to be strong.”

He entered.

She followed.

Inside the room, she addressed Drake. "Now!" she barked. She snapped her fingers, summoning the maids. "Chain her," she ordered.

Two maids, the same ones from before, moved with silent efficiency towards the bed, their hands reaching for the familiar cuffs.

I removed my gowns myself and climbed to the bed. My earlier emotions still hung. I sniffed and let out a deep breath. It was time to perform what I was paid for.

"Not necessary," Drake said, his voice cutting through the quiet, unexpectedly strong.

I turned to face him.

He stood by the bed, his presence filling the space. The maids paused, caught between two opposing commands.

"What did you say?" the Dowager’s voice was sharper than a blade. "I said, chain her!"

The maids, hesitant, began to move again, their eyes darting nervously between mother and son.

I offered my hand. It was the rite.

"I said, stand down," Drake’s voice was a low growl, laced with alpha authority. The maids froze, then slowly retreated. Their faces were relieved. Their bodies sink back.

"You're a fool!" the Dowager bellowed, her voice echoing in the room. "Two weeks ago you were limp as a vegetable! Because you're strong today, do you think you can dictate terms? This is how it's done!”

“No one will see her nakedness again but me! No one will watch while I… " he trailed off.

I sat and looked.

From the Dowager when she spoke.

To Drake when he replied.

My head was empty. I didn't know what to think. I knew I would suffer for the disrespect. Unless he won. I found myself praying that he does. The chains were strains to my wrists and ankles. Putting me in angles considered painful.

Was I hoping for convenient s*x? I sighed at the betrayal happening to my body and soul. I wanted him. And then I don't want to die. To want him was to die.

“What?” She asked.

"My intimate moments with my portal are not for public consumption, Mother," Drake retorted "And certainly not for your audience. This is between me and… her." He gestured vaguely in my direction, but his gaze remained locked on his mother.

"Intimate moments?" she scoffed, and a bitter laugh escaped her. "Don't speak of intimacy with a w***e! An omega! A tool! Do you remember who you were, Drake? Do you remember the shame you brought upon this pack? Do you remember how I held us together when your spirit faded? When your brother, Drew, eyed your throne, ready to seize it from your weakened grasp? I fought for you! I kept the alliances strong, the lesser packs from turning! I forged our power with my own will, while you lay dying!" Her voice rose with each accusation, venom dripping from every word. "I put this pack together! I attracted new blood when you couldn't even stand! Now it's time to fulfill your part by just f*****g, yet you can't!"

My chest ached. A w***e. A tool. She didn’t even need to say it aloud for me to feel it. I was nothing. A commodity.

"You did your part, Mother," Drake said, his voice surprisingly patient, though his jaw was tight. "And I appreciate it. But this… this is my battle now. Let me do mine." He stepped closer to me, not touching me, but his presence was a shield.

I didn't know what to do. To open my hand or turn away. I looked at him. Then she spoke and I turned to look at her.

"She is not your wife!" the Dowager shrieked, her face mottled with rage. "She is an omega! A w***e! Paid for her service! She exists to be used!"

"She is not a w***e!" Drake shouted now.

The Dowager jolted backwards.

His voice vibrated with alpha power, making the very air crackle. I flinched too. My heart leaped. He was fighting for me. He was standing up to her.

"She is my lifeline! She is my future! My hope! I will not treat her as trash! None would!" His eyes swept over me, then back to his mother.

I watched him, my breath caught in my throat. Confusion warred with a burgeoning, fragile hope. Why was he fighting so hard? Why did he care? I was just a tool, wasn't I? A transaction. But his words… My lifeline. My future. My hope. They resonated deep within me, touching a place I thought long dead.

"I don't care! She is what she is. Do what you have to do and don't get back to what you were before. Because if you do, Drake. I won't hesitate to put Drew on that throne.”

She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room.

“Out!” He barked.

The maids tumbled on each other as they rushed out. They shut the door after them.

Silence fell.

But my head, the was a lot. Ragged breathing and heart thumps.

Drake stood for a moment, his chest heaving, his eyes still burning. Amber! Not the dark I saw before.

He looked down at the chains that bound me, then at my face. He moved swiftly, his foot kicking against the heavy iron links near the bed's foot. The chains clattered, then slid away. He kicked another, then another. He had released me. No more chains.

He sat on the bed.

I lowered my eyes.

He reached out.

I sat still. I was paid to serve him.

His hand gently cupped my cheek. It was the first touch. All I had felt before was his d**k and weight on me.

His touch felt surprisingly soft. Then he leaned in and his lips brushed mine in a slow, tender kiss that sent a shiver through me. This was different. This was not the brutal necessary act of replenishment. This was… intimate.

He climbed onto the bed. He kissed my neck. He kissed my chest. Then his lips found my n*****s.

I cringed.

I let out a sigh. A moan.

“Be free, Isadora,” he whispered.

He pulled my legs. He arched them. He positioned himself. Then he lowered himself into me.

He moved between my legs, a slow, deliberate entry, and I gasped, not from pain, but from the sheer, overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely, so gently.

He moved with a languid grace, each stroke deep and unhurried, his eyes never leaving mine. It was a dance of pure connection, a slow burn that was built with agonizing beauty.

“Ahh!” I breathed and slowed down.

"Are you sore?" he murmured against my ear.

I shook my head.

The truth was, I was, but I had no say. What if I was? I was paid to be sore, even worse than that.

"Should we change position?" he asked, still looking into my eyes.

We? My breath hitched. I said to myself.

"Would you like to come on top?" he asked.

My eyes widened. Control. Power. A choice. I nodded.

He shifted, helping me, guiding me to the top.

Now I sat on him.

I straddled him, my body trembling, not from fear, but from the sheer audacity of this moment. I looked down at him, at his handsome face, his eyes dark with desire, and then I moved. I controlled the angling, the depth, finding the rhythm that made my body sing.

Each downward press was a revelation, each upward pull a release. My moans no longer stifled, tore freely from my throat, raw and unashamed.

I leaned down. He pulled me into a kiss. I tasted him. Our mouths locked in a desperate embrace as our bodies moved as one.

“Faster,” he said.

I rode him. Agape. Letting out the heat. I moaned. Freely. I shouted. He held my breast. He held my hip. Pushing more of me into him.

He groaned.

When the tremors finally subsided, when the last wave of pleasure receded, I collapsed beside him. His body was warm and solid against mine. He turned his head, and his lips found mine for one last lingering kiss. "I will find a way," he murmured.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he rose, dressed quickly, and left the room, leaving me alone in the aftermath.

“Mate!” I heard the voice again. My wolf calling to him.