Marked by the Alpha King’s Remorse

Drowning Souls

Violet Graves

Today marks another invisible anniversary: how many weeks, months? I’ve been caged in this castle like a shameful secret. The Council knows what I am. The pack whispers that I’m just some powerless Omega, a charity case the Alpha King keeps in the shadows. No one sees the bruises he leaves on my skin or the ones he carves deeper, straight into my soul.

I don’t blame him for the grief. If I truly did it, if I killed her, killed their unborn child then I deserve every shard of his hatred. But the doubt is killing me slower than he ever could. What if he’s wrong? What if I’m innocent and still letting him destroy me? I’m too pessimistic to hope, too weak to fight. And yet, like the i***t I am, I keep trying to be kind to the man who wants me dead.

His scent hit me before I even opened the door to his private wing, whiskey, pine, and raw despair. Bottles everywhere in his room.

“What the f**k are you doing here?” he snarled without looking up, slouched in his chair like a king who’d already lost his crown.

“Your friend is coming tonight,” I said quietly. “You’d rather he sees you like this?”

He laughed, bitter and broken. “Then clean it up.”

“Xaverius—”

“Don’t.” He stood, towering, eyes finally meeting mine, cruel, bloodshot, endless. “Don’t say my name. And do what I f*****g told you if you want to play savior.”

He stepped closer, pointing at the mess on the floor. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To help?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Of course.”

The command in his voice sent ice down my spine, but I dropped to my knees anyway, gathering the bottles. My fingers brushed a jagged edge, pain flared, sharp and bright. Blood welled instantly, dripping onto the stone.

And then it hit.

Flash.

“I’d sacrifice myself for her, then?” My own voice, younger, furious, asking Lilith.

Lilith’s swallow. “Zerypina is a Healer. I’m sorry, Violet. But if you must . . . yes.”

An illusion, vivid, real, of a man split open chest to sternum, blood pouring, and Zerypina’s hands glowing as she knit him back together.

The room spun. I screamed, scrambling to my feet, bottles crashing again as I fled.

“f*****g hell, come back here, Graves!”

I didn’t stop. I ran until the night air slapped my face, until I collapsed in the dark garden among the roses that smelled like funerals. I curled into myself, sobbing so hard I gagged.

“I want it to stop,” I whispered to no one. “I don’t want to remember like this. I just want to know who I am.”

The memories were coming faster now, fragments, faces, names I’d never spoken aloud but somehow knew by heart. They were eating me alive.

“So now you’re dramatic?” His voice cut through the dark.

I didn’t look at him. “Leave me alone. You shouldn’t have to suffer looking at the woman who murdered your Luna and your heir.”

“Stop it.”

“You don’t know me!” The words tore out of me, raw and bleeding.

“You’re a monster, Graves. Don’t act in front of me.”

“I wish I could remember!” I stood, swaying. “I wish I could just—”

He frowned. I felt warmth sliding down my upper lip. Blood. Nosebleed. The world tilted.

I turned away, pinching my nose, trying to breathe through the copper taste.

“Who the hell are you, really?” His voice softened, actually softened, and it hurt worse than any scream. “Why can’t you just tell me?” It hurts that he probably thinks I’m lying and is begging for the woman he loves.

I wish I was the one he loves.

When the bleeding slowed, I faced him again. I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered.

“You can’t dig the truth out of someone who’s drowning in pain, Alpha,” I said, voice cracking. “I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to remember, and it’s killing me. These memories, they’re coming back in pieces, and they hurt, and I don’t—”

“Then let me give you a slow death,” I begged. “Until I remember everything. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I don’t want this love to keep growing when you hate me.”

“Why the f**k do you love me?” he roared, stepping into my space. “I’ve told you, I’m only keeping you here to break you. To scare you. I’d do every threat I’ve made.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I’m sick. But who forced the bond? Your Council used me—used us—when you didn’t even know my name.”

My lungs seized. The world grayed at the edges. I swayed. His arm shot around me before I hit the ground.

I came to his bed—his bed that still smelled faintly of her, of the life they’d planned. He laid me down like I was made of glass he wanted to shatter.

“I can walk—”

“Shut up.” He pushed me back gently, almost tenderly, and it broke something inside me.

He lay beside me, staring at the ceiling. “Tell me the truth and this ends. I won’t even apologize for what comes after.”

And I know telling him what I know will end everything, and that’s actually better even if it means ending my life. I just need to stop the suffering, and maybe it’s because I’m guilty that’s why these flashes keep visiting my mind.

“I think I’m starting to understand,” I said, tears sliding into my hair. “About her death. About what might have happened.” I murmured under my breath, and I don’t want to close my eyes because every time I do, I see new memories.

“Tell me.”

“Tomorrow.” My voice was small. “Let me feel you one last time before you hate me forever.”

He laughed low, exhausted, drunk. “You’re insane.”

“I love you, Xaverius.” The confession spilled out with tears. “Even in the coma, I heard only your voice. Even when it was hated.”

Something flickered across his face, disgust, annoyance, something darker. He was drunk enough that the edges were softer, dangerous.

“Fine,” he muttered, rolling toward me. His shirt hit the floor. His arms came around me, hard and possessive.

I turned to him. My thin white shirt was soaked with sweat and blood in places; nothing underneath. His gaze dropped to my chest, pupils blowing wide.

“You can touch me like punishment,” I whispered. “One last time. Make it hurt.”

He didn’t speak. He just crashed his mouth against mine, brutal, claiming, teeth and tongue and whiskey. I tasted blood again, didn’t know if it was mine or his. His hands fisted in my hair, yanking my head back so he could devour my throat, biting down hard enough to bruise, to mark.

I gasped his name. He ripped my shirt open, fabric tearing loud in the quiet room, baring me completely. Cool air hit my skin; his hot mouth followed. He sucked one n****e into his mouth, hard, tongue flicking mercilessly while his fingers pinched the other, rolling, tugging until I arched off the bed with a cry that was half pain, half desperate need.

He growled against my breast, teeth grazing the sensitive peak, sending lightning straight to my core. His free hand shoved between my legs, finding me already soaked, and he laughed, dark, mocking, against my skin.

“So wet for the man who wants you dead,” he rasped, shoving two thick fingers inside me without warning. I clenched around the intrusion, still sore from last time, but the burn only made me wetter. He curled them cruelly, stroking that spot that made my vision spark white.

“Please—”

“Please what?” He bit my collarbone, pumped his fingers harder, thumb grinding my c**t. “Please stop? Or please f**k you until you remember what a monster you are?”

I couldn’t answer. My hips rolled against his hand shamelessly. He added a third finger, stretching me brutally, scissoring until I was sobbing his name.

He pulled his hand free abruptly. I whimpered at the loss, until he shoved those slick fingers into my mouth, making me taste myself.

“Suck,” he ordered. I did, eyes locked on him as I licked him clean.

Then he was over me, shedding the rest of his clothes. His c**k, thick, heavy, flushed — sprang free, and my mouth watered even as fear and want twisted inside me. He didn’t give me time to think. He spread my thighs wide, hooked them over his shoulders, and drove into me in one merciless thrust.

I screamed. He was too big, too deep, splitting me open all over again. My nails raked down his back, drawing blood. He hissed, pulled back, and slammed in harder, setting a punishing rhythm that rattled the headboard.

Every thrust felt like vengeance. Every drag of his c**k against my walls felt like absolution.

“Look at me,” he snarled.

I forced my eyes open. His face was savage—beautiful and terrible—eyes wild with hate and something that looked too much like despair.

“You feel that?” he growled, grinding deep, hips circling so his pubic bone crushed my c**t. “That’s me hating you. That’s me ruining you.”

I came with a broken cry, clenching around him so hard he cursed. He didn’t stop—f****d me through it, harder, faster, until I was sobbing from overstimulation.

“Enjoy this night while you’re still mine because tomorrow will be much different, baby,” he whispered with a hot breath against my ears.

He flipped me suddenly, yanking my hips up so I was on my knees. One hand fisted my hair, arching my back; the other cracked against my ass—sharp, stinging—before he drove back inside.

I lost count of how many times he made me come—on his c**k, with his fingers on my c**t, with his filthy words in my ear telling me how much he hated me, how good I felt.

He c*m inside me and groaned as he collapsed over my back, breath ragged, arms shaking.

Tonight, I let myself pretend the hate in his touch was love.