Chapter 1 - Dark
Reminder. This is not a stand alone. More nasty cliff hangers ahead.
Hello- Author here, could you please, pretty please, do that thing that you do. After you read Book One Bought By the Wolf, review it (it's on goodreads too) If you like this sorta thing, review it, and share it. And if you want to give me that serotonin kick, follow me, rate me, star me, and all the stuff that's all about me. It's a huge encouragement for me to keep writing. And really. I should be doing something else with my time.
Also, this story will be free/unlocked for a temporary amount of time. But the next story, from chapter 1, subscribers read first.
Thanks so much for your support!
Mind the content warnings. This is a kinky story and not for the faint of heart. Shifter Teeth, and tail are a risk on every page.
There werewolves’ body heat sank into Onya, stealing away all her worries and fears. Wrapped around her like she’d hop away at the first chance she got, she discovered the only way to sleep through the thread of his arms and legs was on her back, looking up at the wood ceiling of the old cabin. Different, but with him holding her, snuggling close, not uncomfortable at all.
She liked having Eric nearby. He was bigger and harder all over than anyone in her family and unlikely to wet the bed. She’s spent all her life sharing one tiny room packed with brothers and sisters. Although she technically had her own bedding, it was rare that she slept alone.
She drifted off into a welcome sleep. It didn’t last. An annoying draft pulled her to consciousness. A noise in the dark made up to see what was happening.
What was that?
The fire had gone out. Eric no longer held her in his arms, leaving a disorienting hole behind him. The darkness was total, leaving her floating, with only the bed and blanket beneath her to ground herself.
She didn’t like this dark room at all. Danger could hide any here.
A table leg scrapped across the wood floor. Was that what she’d heard before? From behind her. Blindly, she’d faced the wrong way. Righting herself, she twisted, trying to face the room.
One of the dishes clattered, moved by something…big.
Eric was gone, but she wasn’t alone.
Had the cabin door opened and closed? The air in the room smelled different. Fresher. Wilder. Wet fur and mossy-green from the old forest outside. Oh no. She was trapped. This was one of the bad cabins she’d heard about. Eric had said it wasn’t, but that didn’t mean anything at all. This forest was twitchy, the birthplace of all kinds of ancient earth magics. Things happened here no one could explain.
Dishes clattered. Ceramic on wood. She heard something eating at the food on the floor with a noisy and uncivilized vigor. There was a monster in the room.
“Hello?” she whispered into the dark nothing.
An inhuman low, chest grunt answered her.
That didn’t sound aggressive, but it didn’t sound good, either. She sniffed the air. What kind of predator was that? If they’d been closer to town, she would have guessed a human, but since this was the Darkling Forest, it could be anything. A bear. A boar. An Orc. It sounded heavy, brutish.
Onya shrunk in on herself, pulling her legs up to make herself as small as possible. Maybe he wouldn’t see her. This was it. This was finally it. She was going to die.
There were more noises. Chomping and slobbering. She remembered that Eric hadn’t eaten any of that meat left on the table. He’d been too impatient. He’d shoved it all on the floor and they’d gone to the bed with it still there.
She had to get away. Cursed with terrible night vision, she couldn’t see a thing. The dark rubbed at her mind with abrasive threat, full of ominous horrors. Was it one beast or five? If the beast was by the table, he must be between her in the door. What should she do?
Eating sounds. Licking. Claws padding on wood. A monstrously sized body moving in a small space. It bumped into something on the wall, causing clangs and thuds that it didn’t seem to notice. A wild animal would be spooked by knocking into a metal pan, would hop away. This thing just grunted with irritation.
It felt like he was coming over to the corner where the bed was. This was it. She had to do something. She didn’t want to die. It didn’t matter that there was nowhere to go. Onya popped up in a panic and uncurled her legs. Must go now. She leapt off the bed in the direction she thought might be right.
A tree trunk sized hairy arm plucked her out of the air before her toes touched the floor and slammed her back down on the bed. Onya squealed with terror. The monster leaned its weight forward and growled at her. Warm breath fumed over her face in a fog of strawberry jam and fresh copper blood. She heard the old sturdy bed creak under the weight it put on her chest. This thing had eaten her werewolf in great, bloody chunks, and now it wanted her.
Pinned down with gigantic palm and five points of claws, all Onya could do was scream, until the pressure on her chest reduced her terror to a wheeze.
Automatically wrapping her hands around the thick forearm to push him away, Onya felt a humanish arm under her hands, cored with muscles. She could barely wrap two hands around it. “What, what?” She fought, but it was all useless. Nothing did any good. He was too much.
That chuffing noise again, followed by an ice-cold nose on her knee that made Onya yelp. This was it. He was gonna eat her feet first. Her limbs make a pitiful effort to give him a good bunny kick, bruising her heel in the process. He was steel everywhere.
She got a snort for her efforts. If he noticed her fight at all. As if her struggle to live meant nothing to him as he sniffed at her naked skin.
Was it a muzzle or mouth inhaling her scent? Didn’t matter. It was too close. Too much. Danger was everywhere.
She couldn’t make herself stop yanking on the arm that held her, scratching and pulling at the wiry hair. “Please. Please. I don’t want to die.”
“Eat,” it said. That’s what she thought it said. Could have been, “Mate.” The beast’s other great paw closed over her ankle.
“No. Don’t eat. Go back outside. Find a deer or something.”
Claws scraped the floor as the beast shifted its body. The bed rocked to the side. “Mate,” it grumbled. It snuffed all over her, from forehead to her ankles. Face chilled and damp, scruffy with something, its touch shocked her. Onya screeched bloody murder.
It chuffed at the noise she made. Between the tickle and the imminent threat of becoming the predator’s next meal, she didn’t know what to feel. She bucked and kicked, frantic to get away. Nothing moved him. All he had to do was lean forward to squeeze the fight right out of her chest.
A strange humming noise rolled from its chest, almost like the warm tumble of sound that Eric had made for her a couple of times. Didn’t bite. Continued to lick.
“Sir?” Could this really be the same werewolf? She took a breath to calm the crazy beat of her heart. It was unlikely to be a different werewolf. Very unlikely. In the dark, everything was confusing.
“Mine,” the beast grunted.
“Is that you, Sir? I can’t see. If that’s you, you don’t smell quite right.” She tried to find him in the new scents. He was there, but he must have also gone outside and gone hunting. She didn’t care to know what he’d found to eat in this forest.
More long, lazy licks over her calves, her shins, the back of her knees. Goodness, was he going to lick all of her? She quivered at the thought, her toes spasming. It really tickled. “Sir, please.”
He had to stop. She couldn’t take it.
No longer fighting, she tried again to escape. He had a long tongue in his human shape, too. Doing things with it that she didn’t think a buck would be able to do, curling and stabbing, subjecting her to a sensual misery. “Sir, please stop,” she cried out, caught in a half giggle. She tried to bat him away.
Using his weight to keep her in place, he caught the offending arm and started to lick it also. Her laughs burst free as he went up the insides of her arm and down her rib cage. Snuffling. Rubbing his nose. Teasing with whiskers.
The other kits tried to tickle her, but they weren’t very good at it. This werewolf? He was a fiend, hunting down every tender spot she didn’t know she possessed, as if he were on a serious mission to turn her into a helpless puddle of bunny goo. She wheezed, coughed, and laughed with great peals of sound. She rocked from side to side, tried to push him away. “Oh, please. Stop,” she begged.
Neck, armpits, ribs, belly button, no place was safe from the beast until the licks grew firmer and started to become little sucking bites.
It didn’t hurt. But after the cruel tickles, she no longer feared he meant to eat her. The humor turned steamy. Nuzzling under her chin, he lapped and sucked at her neck, over her collar bones, down her chest. Harder, firmer, more possessive, using more teeth as he went. The mood change was sudden, but natural. He’d yet to finish what he’d started, and her body sild right into high arousal as fast as her head did.
He bit her nipple. She cried out. His hand moved from her chest, cradled her head, half her jaw, thumb at the corner of her mouth. She felt more teeth digging into her skin, sharp enough to draw blood. She gasped, back arching as zings of energy shot down to her clit. With her mouth open, he shoved his thumb inside and pressed down on her tongue.
Onya didn’t think. She wrapped her lips around his thumb and sucked, breathing hard through her nose, while he tormented her breast. Her hips rocked, pumping air with each fierce little nip, each deep pulse of a suckle. He was large. Forceful. Hungry and demanding. All mouth and hands everywhere at once, building a web of want in the dark on every side of her.
“Mine,” he grunted as he left one breast for the other. “Mine.” He moved his finger, making her gag on it, before pulling away to use his hand for something else.
“Yours,” she agreed. Drool leaked down her chin. She said what she knew he expected to hear, mindless of deeper meanings as she slipped into the airy trust of complete submission.
This had to be okay. She really needed it to be okay because it all felt too good to be anything else.
When she was able to get her hands back from him so that she could touch him, she connected with all kinds of contradictory information. His torso was too long, too thick. His arms too wide. The hair on his chest too long. He must be in his werewolf shift, but it was very unlike the shift of a canine or any wolf she’d seen in pictures. He was man. But not.
Something hot and wet splat on her shins as he moved down her belly with nips and kisses. Pre-come? He was as aroused as she was, but he ignored it. Instead, all his concentration seemed to be licking her in every single place he could reach. Making her suffer as he marked her up, decorating her body as his touch. Onya knew the scent would stay behind. Other shifters would see and smell the sex marks and leer at her as she walked by.
She didn’t care anymore. Couldn’t care about anything beyond this monster in the dark. Only this mattered. This dark cabin was her entire world. She tried to open herself for him, ready to take the hot, wet rut of him into herself. More than ready to succumb to his need. When he took the up the space she offered with her spread legs, instead of mounting her, he lifted her legs higher and took up all the room between with his shoulders.
He was going to use his mouth again. She didn’t think she could take it.
Rubbing his beard against her sensitive skin, Onya shuddered with ripples of sensation. He bit the fleshy part of her inside thigh, sharp and cruel, the cut of teeth interrupting her pleasure. Gentle turning rough, reminding her, once again, that she was in the arms of a pure predator. He would never be soft like her.
Soothing the hurt, licking up the blood of her pierced skin. His tongue flicked. More bites followed, all the way to her center, marking the pathway to her need and claiming it. “Mine,” she heard.
She made a noise back at him, caught between tears welling, her throat closing, cutting off her air, and the deep, transforming intensity of what he was doing to her. Making her his “mine.”
All she could do was hold on. There was no thought of escape. No thought of dangers. Relaxing her legs around Eric’s shoulders she gave him her body do with as he pleased. He made a humming sound in his chest—it sounded like approval—and cupped her butt in his hands before lifting her center to his face.
Breath hissed out of Onya before transforming into a miserable whine.
He licked her again, a thorough back and forth with his tongue, as if he liked how she tasted here, as if he had to do this, couldn’t help himself. As if he wanted her like this. The noise was sloppy. Awful. So embarrassing in the hollow dark. She was very wet. But his tongue and mouth were dripping with slobber too.
“Oh please,” she begged. She couldn’t do this. Needed. He’d made her wait all day. “Please may I come.”
He paused, waiting for something, his nose lightly pressing on her engorged clit.
“Sir!” she remembered, shouting it out.
He hummed, went back to feasting. Tongue everywhere but where she wanted it. Just like before. Everywhere but how she needed it. Building the pressure of her cravings. Taking her higher and higher to her peak. Withholding her completion.
He danced around her clit, then stabbed shallowly into her hole. Creating a pattern, each time going a little deeper, until he’d smashed his nose against her, mouth opened wide. Fucking her with his tongue.
It felt crazy—amazing. Profane—dirty—wonderful. He lapped inside of her, drinking her up. If she’d needed a better cleansing after playing with the jam earlier, he gave it to her now, driving her higher and higher with the filthy delight of his tongue in her hole.
“Please Sir. Oh, oh, please.” Incoherent sounds poured from her. Unable to control herself, her hips undulated in his hands as she struggled to find a desperately needed release. “I need.”
He shifted her weight in his palms, freed a hand, and caught hers, brought it to her own mound and set her fingers right on her messy clit. “Play with yourself.” His voice was a rumble-edged command from deep in his chest. More monster than man.
But she understood the assignment.
“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” The words slipped from her. Grateful. She didn’t know how else to express the welling of emerging feelings as she touched the bump at the top of her slit. As if she’d been trapped in yet another unsatisfied heat, her clit had become grossly large. The cool air in the cabin plus her splayed legs had dried the point of all moisture. Needing more, she dipped her fingers down to gather up her own slick. But the werewolf, Eric, got there first with his tongue. Licking it up.
Why was he doing this to her?
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