His Lycan Princess | 18+

Devour

“I– I am not jealous.”

Bane’s lips grazed my cheek. “Good. You shouldn’t be envious of anyone for there’s none like you. Not for me, not anymore. I am yours, Celine. And–” he added. “You’ve mine.”

“I am not,” I dared say. I was my own, and if anyone could ever claim to possess any part of me, then they would be my mother and my grandmother. These women had my heart, always and forever. I owed them everything, my coming into this world, my upbringing, my soul. They had made me who I was, they had given me everything when they had nothing, they had filled me with love, and hope, and the admirable courage to fight every fight no matter how unmatched or frightening the opponent. “I’m not yours.”

It was as if I had never spoken, as if my words bared no importance to him.

"You are mine," he murmured across my skin. He inhaled my scent deeply and kissed my cheek while his fingers caressed my inner thigh and the mark he had given me. My moon-shaped scar, my eternal bond to him. I shuddered. "Celine, you are mine and only mine, you understand?” He looked at me. “You are my mate. Say it.”

I shook my head. “I– I don’t belong to you.” I belong to myself, to my ancestors, to my heritage and to the promise I had made to honor them by finding the Lycan King and burying a silver dagger in his dark, cruel heart. Bane Vilskansser sure as hell wasn’t the one I belong to. He just so happened to be in the forest when the troll attacked and when I lost my dagger. If I had it with me now, I would practice stabbing on him. “I’m not–”

With a fearsome snarl, he tore through my white under gown, leaving me vulnerable before him in the dim kitchen candlelight. Despite my resistance, my wriggling and shouts of protest, he pinned me down on the table beneath him. My warm, trembling body was pressed so intimately against him. The proximity flooded my senses, a contact unlike any other. Terrifying, raw, overwhelming, and intoxicating. I was scared, more than ever before. I was confused, drunk, weak. My delicate p***y was pressed against his belly right next to his massive erection, skin on bare hot skin, with nothing to separate us. My full and warm breasts heaved under his chest. In my struggles, my heated skin and my erected n*****s moved against him with greater friction, causing an almost excruciating sensation. I knew he could feel the hammering of my panicked heart beneath them, and like a drop of blood in the depths of the ocean that lures a hungry shark in, my fear made him come closer. The predator inside him surfaced.

“You still haven’t said it.” Bane hardly sounded like himself, his voice was much, much deeper and containing a rumble that nearly made me sob. Or moan. Or something in between. “Say it.”

“No.”

He held my wrists in his one hand, leaving me hopeless and defenseless. Completely at his mercy. He reared up and slapped the underside of my right breast with his palm, then the underside of the left with the back of his hand. Instantly, choked sobs erupted from my throat. “Say it!” he growled.

“No-no, don’t touch me!” Immediately, he grabbed a n****e and pinched it. I screamed in shock and surprise, sensations flooding me. “Stop…Stop,” I begged him.

“Then say it.”

“No, you can’t possibly expect me to–”

In his grip, his nails and fingers pressed into the tender flesh of my boob.

I succumbed to hysterical crying. “Please…let me go,” I whimpered, tears streaming down my face. “I promise I won’t breathe a word; I will not tell anyone. I just want to go home.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” His words sunk me into a pit of despair. His voice, detached and cold, lacked any hint of empathy or emotion, except for one unwavering element—certainty. I couldn't bear his certainty. "I can't," he murmured, "and beyond that... I don’t want to."

This wasn’t Bane Vilskansser. It couldn’t possibly be. The man that was holding me down, that was inflicting such unbearable agony on me, was merely a shadow of the playful rascal I was flirting with moments before. What had I done? He was maddened, irrational, aggressive. Was it the drinking or the poisoning? Was it something else that had condemned me to this torturous hell?

He leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “You want me to let go?”

I nodded, unable to form words.

“Then be a good little girl and do as I ask you.” He pinched my n****e harder.

“Bane,” I sobbed. “Th-this isn’t you.”

For a moment, I thought I saw a shimmer flickering in the amber depths of his eyes. Like the real Bane could hear me from somewhere deep within him. He paused, his hands shaking as if he was fighting himself. But then that moment passed and the darkness was unleased again. His beautiful eyes darkened.

“B-Bane?” I panted. But this was no longer the Bane I knew. This was something enraged, fiery and hungry, something that wanted and took and claimed. He hesitated for an agonizing second. Then, his head tilted down toward me. And he kissed me. His mouth crushed mine, possessive and scorching and forceful. His lips parted mine, he gasped against my mouth and I moaned into his. We molded perfectly together, fitted against one another like this was what we had been made for. Despite myself, against my logic, my better judgement and my fear, my mouth opened to his, luring him deeper, deeper still, and our tongues met for the briefest instance before he pulled away.

“Say it,” he said again but this time it was different, soft, almost beseeching. “Say you’re mine, Celine.”

He still held my hands in a vice-like grip over my head, his hips pressed against mine, keeping my knees apart. He let my poor n****e go and he rubbed the sensitized and tender buds with his palm. It was so contradicting, so forceful and violent and gentle and sensual, that it made my head spin. I didn’t know what to think, what to feel.

“No,” I whispered against his mouth.

Bane kissed me harder, deeper, with a fervent urgent need I’d never known before. His kiss was dark, demanding, full of despair and need and passion. It was all taking, like he was trying to conjure something out of me with the soft strokes of his tongue, with little jabs of his chin. It was like he wanted to have me whole, to devour me.

And then something unexpected happened, I released a little sigh in the back of my throat and caught myself leaning greedily into the kiss, returning his fervency, his urgency. I craved him. I craved him so, so much! I nipped his lip with my teeth, and slid my legs up his rolling hips, drawing him in, grinding and rubbing my aching c**t against this c**k, seeing how my naked body fitted against his and getting ready to open up for–

My eyes fluttered open.

No, nonononono! This was bad, really bad. Disastrous.

What was I thinking? Why was I indulging in… this – whatever this was? A few moments before, I was thinking of the ignominy and the shame he had caused me, of how small, weak and helpless he made me feel. I was expecting the horrible pain of him tearing through my innocence, decimating my body. What had happened to these thoughts? They were the only ones keeping me sane, reminding me of what was real. I wanted them back in my head. Them! The pain and the fear and the shame. Not craving the werewolf I had poisoned and driven to madness. I preferred to see him as sick, twisted, and sadistic. It made it easier to define how I felt towards him. I wanted to hate him with all my guts, to resent him. I wanted to interpret it all as r**e, not seduction or a dark fantasy. I wanted to see him as nothing but a monster. I shouldn’t be dreaming of his amber eyes, or the way his silky black hair would feel in my hands. What I should do instead was kill him.

Why hadn’t I? Oh, right, because he held me down without so much as a strained breath, because I could never overpower him, because I–

Suddenly, Bane released me. He could have broken my wrists, could have teared my skin open, he could do so much more damage and there would be nothing I could do to stop him. But he didn’t hurt me. He set me free. Why? He must have taken my previous behavior as submission, as me giving in to him, becoming his. His… mate. He followed the path of my neck with his lips and kissed down my breasts and my stomach, slowly but decidedly blazing a hot, wet trail of sucking and biting down to where my legs met. I remembered what that had done to me on the night of the Blood Moon, I remembered the dark abyss of pleasure his mouth has thrown me into. I couldn’t fall into that black pit again. I had to stop him before he did it again.

In my frenzy, my hand started fumbling blindly on the table beside me for something, anything to arm myself against what was about to happen. Against him. I picked up a light little thing made of wood, a fir cone? That wouldn’t do. I dropped it. I found something soft and tactfully folded like a… napkin? This would prove useless too. I made contact with something cold and stiff and metallic. Was it a piece of silverware? Yes, yes! It was! A spoon? No, thank Goodness, no. A knife? Not a knife either. I exhaled. I would have to defend myself with a fork. A freaking fork!

I sighed and sat up on the table, and just when Bane looked up, I jabbed his shoulder with my makeshift weapon. I had aimed for that budging little vein on the side of his swollen neck, but he swiftly moved to the side and I missed. He stood up grabbing the fork and pulling it out. It looked so small and insignificant clutched inside his massive fist, like a toothpick held by a giant.

But the effect wasn’t quite the same. My mouth fell open as I saw him panting and groaning in pain, as the skin and the blood vessels around the wound began to darken. Was… was he allergic to forks? No, that was stupid. Was he allergic to silver? Flashes of memory flooded my mind. He had intentionally kept his hands away from any sort of silverware during dinner, and he had only kept his appetite for… me.

Bane, infuriated, lunged at me, but this time he was weakened by the silver, by the wound, the alcohol and the poison cursing through his veins. He was slow, unsteady. I managed to lift my legs up and kick him in the chest with all my might. It worked. He staggered, lost his balance and collapsed on the floor. His skull made a horrible, bone-rattling sound as it hit the hard marble floor.

“Bane?” I muttered.

He didn’t answer, he didn’t grunt, he didn’t even move.

Had I…?

Had I killed him?