Thirty
The triggering of arousal is instant. My pussy pulses, wanting to be touched by whoever’s willing, and my nipples harden, wanting to be sucked into the first warm mouth. My mind recoils, imprisoned inside my own body. I withdraw into myself, trying to get through this. If I’m not mentally here, I can’t truly consent.
My body isn’t mine.
It doesn’t matter what they do to it.
It doesn’t matter what it does because of them.
It is only my brain that is me anymore.
And I do not consent.
She’s lying on a bed. There are men around her, ready to have intercourse with her. Two of them start to shift into their wolf forms. She can hear the cracking of their bones and their grunts of pain.
My name is Micha Shadow.
She shivers in anticipation. Her vagina throbs in desire. Her legs tingle, already close to the edge of an orgasm. Her nipples are hard and sensitive. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted as she pants.
My best friend is Dayne Killeen-McCarthy.
Two large strong hands grab her hips, and she tries to spread her legs in invitation, but the werewolf ignores them as he flips her over. He’s so strong. She’s just a toy to him, and he easily positions her how he wants her. At the edge of the bed, on her knees, her ass in the air, her face pressed into the fresh sheets.
I have a sister called Lou.
His penis lines up with her labia. She pushes against him on a moan, begging for him to enter her.
I will survive this.
He pushes in slowly, his clawed hands squeezing her hips. She arches downwards as he fills her up, moaning and panting. Her vagina pulses around his penis. Her nipples ache. It’s not going to take much for her to come, the V in her blood running hot.
My name is Micha Shadow.
He rocks inside her, and she’s never felt more full. Due to the V, her insides have moved and changed to accommodate him. The original g-spot has grown three times as large and become more sensitive. Another one’s been created where the head of his penis hammers into her.
My best friend is Dayne Killeen-McCarthy.
He moves inside her slowly, leisurely, and she twists and moans beneath him. She wants this. Is hungry for this.
I have a sister called Lou.
She pushes back onto him, wanting, needing more. She’s on the verge of her orgasm. Her vagina kegels around him. He grunts above her, a primal wolf. An animal. His speed picks up.
I will survive this.
A clawed hand presses down on her back. Her face is forced into the sheets, making her gluteal more prominent. She curls her phalanges into the fabric as he picks up speed.
My name is Micha Shadow.
He rams into her. She starts to scream. The pleasure that is rushing through her is so fucking intense. She’s a dirty little slut. A willing participant. A cheater.
She has a husband who loves her, who is trying to save her. The scream he emitted in the Plane of Monsters erupts in her ears, that heartbroken cry, that desperate yell of pain and misery. She tenses.
But only for a second.
My best friend is Dayne Killeen-McCarthy.
She wants that dick. She’s a bitch in heat. She ruts him hard, sliding up and down his cock without shame even as tears run down her cheeks.
I have a sister called Lou.
His knot grows inside her, pressing on her pleasure spots and signaling that he’s about to come. But she beats him to it. Her body shaking, she squirts all over him. It runs down her legs, soaking his hairy balls.
I will survive this.
She hates herself.
My name is Micha Shadow.
He comes in her, filling her up and making her stomach swell due to the magic of the V. Her growing belly presses against the sheets.
She cries out in pleasure, pushing back onto his cock. She can feel each spurt of his cum and rocks her hips, milking him for more.
My best friend is Dayne Killeen-McCarthy.
His hands tighten on her hips as he waits for his knot to go down. She spasms against the bed, her orgasm still going. It runs through her body with an intensity that leaves her a writhing hot mess. She’s never come so hard.
She’s never hated herself more.
I have a sister called Lou.
He pulls out of her, his knot gone. She wiggles her ass, wanting, needing another cock inside her.
Over and over, numerous werewolves rape her.
I will survive this.
But how can she claim it’s rape when she’s coming all over their cocks?
When the V wears off, I wish it didn’t.
My body is “mine”
again, and I fucking hate it. I want to tear my flesh off my bones. I want to set fire to all the parts they touched. I want to hurt Varius like they’ve hurt me. He caused this. He took my magic and made me helpless.
He’s the only reason you still have your hands.
He took my eyes.
Did he?
I bite back a scream. I don’t want to listen to the damn voice in my head. I want to yell at it. I want to throw things at it. I want to rip it from my skull and skewer it on a knife. It’s supposed to be on my side. It’s the only thing left on my side!
Tears build in my throat, but I force them down. I don’t want to cry, and gods fucking dammit, I’m going to do one fucking thing that I want to do even if it fucking kills me.
And right now, I want to tear these damn sheets off the bed.
I roll onto my side, hating the feel of the wetness sliding around on my legs. I grab a handful of dry sheet and angrily wipe myself down. My broken arm has been healed, but it gives me little pleasure to know Eduardo fucking touched me at some point while I was spaced out.
“That’s pointless,”
a man says – the same guy who cursed after he missed pouring the V down my throat.
My teeth grind together. “Guess you never wipe your ass then, huh? Just going to shit again.”
My stomach growls, the hunger sharp and cruel. My nose twitches at the smell of something spicy and meaty nearby. Doing my best to not look interested in whatever he has, I climb off the bed, then turn around and start tugging at the sheets.
“Touche,”
he says, his voice moving around to the other side of the bed. There’s a light clatter. A plate being put onto a side table, perhaps?
I still for a fraction of a second, my stomach controlling my movements. Then I’m jerking on the sheet again, more annoyed than before. I want to yell at him to get out of here, but if I do and he doesn’t, then he’ll remind me that I’m at everyone else’s mercy, and just for one pathetic moment, I want to pretend that I’m not.
“Eat,”
he says. “It’s jambalaya.”
“I don’t want it,”
I snap just to be difficult.
“Too fucking bad. Antonio told me to make sure you eat, so either you get your ass over here and eat, or I’ll pin you down and shove it in your mouth.”
“You’ll lose your fingers,” I growl.
“And you’ll lose your tongue.”
I clench my teeth tight.
Stiff and unyielding.
The growling of my stomach undermines my defiance.
“Just fucking come eat. Then I can take you for a shower before you’re raped again.”
I turn towards him. Most rapists don’t like to admit it’s rape. Except for the fuckers like Sadist. The fact that he’s so blatant about it oddly makes me more at ease. And I hate that. I hate that I can feel a kinship with one of my rapists.
Was it rape if he made you come?
“What’s your name?”
I demand, mostly to quiet the voice in my head and to distract myself from the shame in my belly.
“Why?”
“So I can tell my friend to kill you slowly when he gets here.”
He laughs. “It would be a shame if you lost your tongue. There’s no one here for me to talk to.”
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“You talk a lot for someone who doesn’t.”
I purse my lips together again.
He chuckles. “I’ll show you how to get to the shower on your own if you come eat.”
“Why?”
“Because being malnourished is shit for pregnancy.”
My pulse spikes at the idea of carrying the child of one of these fucker’s inside of me. The only solace I have is I will die before I ever make it to term due to the blood bond not being fed. Or Varius or Dayne will rescue me, and I’ll get an abortion.
“So is being stressed,”
I say, “and he doesn’t give a shit about that.”
“If your lover boy didn’t attack the school, you would’ve got moved into your own quarters after you got pregnant. That’s what he does for all of them. But now, well, space is limited on a boat. So –”
“I’m on a boat?”
The air drains from my lungs, those words taking every last bit of it. If Eduardo or Terra is able to cloak large objects, we’ll never be found.
“A super yacht. So there’s ample space, but not many berths.”
Something this big, they might not be able to cloak –
“Eduardo can cloak it on his own,” he says.
But he’s used a lot of magic recently, having kept my brain alive while Sadist killed me, then reviving me twenty-nine times. He has to be short on –
“We’re drifting afloat somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, so give up your hope,”
the man says. “You will survive better without it.”
Tears choking me, I go back to tugging off the sheet. It comes free of the bed, but now I don’t know what to do with it. Angry and terrified, I squeeze it in my fists.
“Come on,”
he says. “I know you’re hungry.”
My damn stomach hasn’t stopped growling.
I drop the sheet, wishing I had a knife so I could open myself up and pull out the fucking traitor. Desperate to hold on to some semblance of power, I snap, “Can I at least eat at a fucking table?”
“Oh, right. You can’t see I’m standing beside one. Walk three steps to your left.”
I hesitate for a moment, but I need to learn the paces of the room. I need to build it up in my head. So I breathe out and shuffle three paces to the left.
“Two more steps,”
he says. “You didn’t walk far enough.” Then, “Turn right. Now walk towards my voice. There is nothing in your way.”
I move faster this time. I’ve sparred blindfolded before with Dayne and other members of the Blacks, and although I was never great at it, I wasn’t terrible either. But that was in a gym, where I knew the only things to get hurt by were the things that moved. I could feel the air shifting, hear the fabric of their clothes as they tried to strike fast. There was knowledge to pull from, but in this room, with him standing still, there is no input for me to use.
“Stop,”
he says, and I do instantly.
There’s the sound of a chair being moved backwards. It isn’t far in front of me. I reach forward.
“Put your – A bit further. Down…”
I touch the back of a cushioned chair. It isn’t straight. It’s curved, posh. Too big for me to pick up and hit him with.
He chuckles. Then the clutter of silverware sounds. “Now you get to eat with your hands,” he says.
It irritates me that he’s able to read me, especially when I don’t have any fucking eyes to decipher.
“I was in your place not too long ago,”
he says softly, and a flare of hope ignites in my chest.
“We could work together.”
He snorts. “You can’t even walk across the room on your own. What good are you to me? The only way I get out of this is if I get you pregnant with a hybrid.”
“Antonio will want you more then,”
I say, wary about how little that makes sense.
“It’s not Antonio I’m trying to escape. I have no life on the outside, no family or pack. But Eduardo’s ‘hybrids’ are infertile, so I’ll be pulled from the experiments if I’m more useful elsewhere. Now eat. At least one of us is to rape you every hour until you’re pregant.”
Panic hits me in the stomach, and my knuckles whiten on the back of the chair. I want to lash out at him – kill him and escape, but I need to be smarter about this if I’m going to survive. I’m only going to have one chance to pull this off, and doing it before I know the layout of the room, let alone the boat is suicide. And where would I even go? I can swim, but I doubt we’re anywhere near land. Vampires can phase to where they can see.
Begrudgingly, I feel my way around the chair, then sit down. He taps the table in front of me, showing me where the plate is.
“Can I at least have a spoon?”
I ask, not wanting to dig my hands into the rice. My right one touched Sadist’s balls and is still covered in his blood, and my left is covered in Grubs’.
He taps the silverware on the table twice before laying it down, the clinking of movement deciphered by my guess of what he’s doing. I reach for it slower than I actually need to. I don’t want him to know how confident I can move without my eyes. As long as I have sound or movement, I can map it easily thanks to my assassin training. I know he’s being nice by deliberately making noise and that if it came down to a fight, I would lose, but I want him to drop his guard around me.
Antonio isn’t going to be on this boat all the time. He has things to do, evil plans to put in place, the Shadow family to fuck with. So I’ll be left with the men who rape me, the men who aren’t as paranoid or as terrifying as he is. I’m going to survive this place.
I just need to pick my moment.
“So how did you end up here?”
I ask as I grab the spoon and awkwardly aim for my plate. The Cajun spices tickle my nose, and my stomach growls in approval. The flavors explode on my tongue, utterly delicious, and I struggle to eat like a lady rather than scoffing down the rice. It doesn’t matter that I know Sau isn’t here; the constant ‘corrections’ I got from her makes me wary to break her rules even in hel.
Can’t get a fucking break anywhere.
Oddly, that brings a small smile to the hollow part inside of me. Outside, my lips don’t move except to eat and talk.
“I was a lone wolf sniffing around without permission.”
Males are often run out of their packs a few years after their ascension. The majority of packs are female, with an alpha at the top (normally male, though twenty percent of them are matriarchies) and a few beta males ranked under the women. Breeding is allowed throughout, unlike in actual wolf populations, but this set-up gives them the best chance of having a large pack without an excess of testosterone causing fights and allows the troublesome males a chance to actually make it to adulthood without being killed by the alpha or one of the women they annoy.
But it also means lone wolves don’t have the safety of a pack. There’s no retaliation if you kill one – or kidnap it and use it as a test subject for your experiments.
“How long have you been here?”
“Two, three years? So believe me when I tell you there’s no way out of here. The sooner you give up your hope, the better your life will be.”
That might’ve worked for him, but it’s not going to work for me.
I’m going to get out of this place.
I’m going to see my niece or nephew grow up.
I’m going to be at Dayne and Quinton’s wedding – or the latter’s funeral, whichever way that goes down.
And I’m going to kick Varius’ ass.
Picking up another spoonful of jambalaya, I keep asking him questions about his life. If I can figure out my enemies, then I can manipulate them. If I turn him into a friend, then I can turn him into an ally.
And if I can do either of those things, then my chances of surviving are a lot higher.
Antonio might’ve taken my eyes and stolen my body, but he hasn’t broken me.
Not yet, that little voice whispers.
But everyone breaks eventually.