Hekate’s Bride

The kiss is fierce and passionate, born from the primal instinct of two creatures drawn to each other in a way that transcends every thought, every duty, every reason.

There is nothing thing gentle about the way Rune handles me, but then, I have never been the type of woman who loves being treated like glass.

He is fire and right now, I’m burning.

And nothing has ever felt so good.

When I cup the length of him through his slacks, he makes a sound deep in his throat that is both raw and sounds very close to the animal that lurks under his skin and it is so sexual, my folds clench hard. I shiver with wanton, unbridled lust.

He slams me against the wall beside the hall’s door and I shove him hard, twisting us so that his back his against the wall instead. I want control. I want him writhing for me. I want him wanting me so bad, his knees will buckle.

But Rune will not be subdued.

He shifts us again and my breath is knocked out of me when my back hits the wall again. He catches my hands and pins it over my head, trapping me.

Then he devours me.

His tongue, his lips, his fangs, all on my neck as he grinds his hard length between my thighs in a slow torturous motion that has me nearly falling.

I don’t know where I am or who I am. All I know his him.

“Rune,” I cry out sharply, legs quivering.

He makes a pained sound before he speaks. His voice isn’t particularly his when he does. It is in layers and so guttural, the heat between my thighs skyrocket. “Say my name again.”

“Say mine,” I manage to get out, ignoring every instinct that makes me want to scream his name until it’s all I can say.

“Gin,” he groans.

I jerk back, needing to get as far away from him as I possibly can.

And so it ends. The excitement, the primal heat, the pleasure, the ache, the need… It all dies.

He called me Gin. He’s thinking about her while he touches me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Rune does these things on purpose, to make me realize just how little I’ll ever mean to him.

And I am the fool for giving this more importance than it should have. I’m the fool who doesn’t know what she feels or understand why my body just reacts when Rune touches me.

But… this is quite enough.

My eyes sting with tears but I refuse to cry. Never again. Definitely not for him.

We stare at each other and I note the tiny cut on his lips that has a bit of blood pooling around it.

I did that.

His tongue darts out to lick the blood off and I hate the pang of arousal that shoots through me, and that he can probably smell all of it.

“Astrid,” he starts, taking a careful step forward, but I hold my hand up from where I stand, breathing hard and fast.

“Don’t–There is not need for that,” I say, backing away. “You don’t owe me that, and I you. She is your betrothed. I am…” My voice breaks off and I look away abruptly, hiding my face from him.

He says nothing. I want him to. I want him to tell me that he has no choice. I want him to tell me he didn’t choose her. I want him to tell me things. I want him to explain what I am, where I stand. I’m hoping he can explain why this thing exists between us. This thing I have no name for.

I turn away and walk to the far end of the hallway. Against the wall, I sit and bury my face in my hands, sobbing silently.

***********

Ginevra’s grip on me only hardens. “Rune is mine, princess. Mine, and I do not like to share.”

Tears spring to my eyes and I swallow, staring deeply into hers. “It’s not my fault he likes my tongue better than yours.”

I expect it, but it still hurts like hell when her fist connects with my face. There is a sharp crack and bones give way. Pain radiates outward from the centre of impact, spreading like wildfire through the nerves. Warmth spills down from my nostril and… I think my nose is broken.

My vision swims as I struggle to stay put, my world suddenly hazy and distorted.

“Stupid bitch,” Ginevra says, chest heaving with anger and eyes blazing with fury.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

I touch my nose and i can’t feel it. I drop my hand to stare at it and the sight of the blood on my fingertips has me growling fiercely.

Ignoring the pain, I pull my hand out from underneath her foot, howling as the glass scrapes my skin.

I lunge for her, canines elongating, and I bury my teeth in her thigh, tearing past her flesh and bone.

She screams, releasing my hair at once. She kicks at me and rips at the skin on my neck, my back with sharp claws. It hurts but I don’t let go. I latch on tightly and she knows better than to pull away from me. A good chunk of her skin will be gone.

Her cronies rush into the bathroom and they come for me.

Pain lances through my back as they try to put me down, but the harder they try to get me to leave her thigh, the harder I bite.

Her screams are music to my ears… and there is so much blood. From my nose, from her thighs, in my mouth.

But it isn’t nearly enough.

Beating Ginevra at this level is never going to happen. So I will cause her as much pain as I can, so she knows never to touch me again. I may be a werewolf and that puts me at a natural disadvantage, but that doesn’t make me a pushover. That doesn’t make me weak.

Should I let go, this will happen again. Over and over again. She will hurt me for no reason and think I cannot fight back because I don’t.

But I can, and I will.

How’s that? A pound of flesh in exchange for respect and fear?

More people pour into the bathroom and I feel hands on me. I hear my name being spoken softly, but I don’t recognize the voice. I don’t want to. All I see is red.

Slowly, I enter ‘the rage’, and my anger transcends all pain. Latching on tightly, I rip out a good part of her skin and blood sprays everywhere. I spit it out in the ground beside me and look at her.

Her eyes are wide with horror and when she looks down at her destroyed thigh, she falls back, scrambling quickly to get away from me, all the while screaming blood and murder. I see her fear, I smell it. It is intoxicating.

I smile with the blood on my teeth and my face, dripping down to stain my blouse. My grin widens and I laugh, though I’m not sure why.

When I turn to the mirror, my eyes are wholly black and I can’t help but think that I look like a demon.

And with the way everyone stares at me with new eyes, I know they’re thinking the same thing.