To the Moon and Back

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****Warning: this book has several very dark themes, including rape, molestation, prostitution, and suicide/self-harm. Viewer discretion is advised.** Broken and bruised. Scarred and used. She was a whore, slipping from one bed to another. Dirty and stained. Tainted and afraid. No matter what they said of her, she knew it was only a matter of time... Selfish and cowardly. Skittish and cowering. She was fragile, but not like glass. She was as fragile like a bomb, preparing to detonate. It was only a matter of time... She'd get her freedom, even if she died trying. She would rather die on her feet than live on her knees... And she was done living on her knees. Vengeance and love. Hiss and crackle. Sacrifice and revenge. Smoke and fire. She wasn't afraid to die.

Fantasy / Romance
Samantha Adkins
5.0 1 review
Age Rating:

Chapter 1: Numb

Dying is the easy part.

After hours of torture, they left her there, kneeling on the icy cement. She felt her legs throbbing, screaming just as her family had... her parents. She felt the pain shooting through her limbs, aching from hours of remaining in the same position, but just like her pleads for mercy, the pain had been pushed to the back of her mind.

All she saw, smelled, and processed, was the scene laying before her; a scene of utter carnage and destruction.
The blood...
The flesh...
The knives, nails, wrenches, hammers...
The soulless, shattered bodies of the people she loved most.
She didn't register the executioner wipe his bloody hands on his jeans, nor did she see his sickening grin of satisfaction as he surveyed his work.
They were dead.
All she saw, all she could fathom, was the broken and mangled corpses of her parents. All she could see was black blood pooling around their bodies, the shards of protruding bone, the peeled back flesh, the thread crisscrossing over white lips and eyelids.
They were dead.
Her hands lay limp in her lap, her wrists encased in a swath of silver chains, the surface of the metal so clean that they tossed crimson back at her... reflecting hours of pain, screaming, pleading, and silence.
A deathly still silence that had wrapped around her heart, squeezing it in a vice of torment as her mother, finally, stopped pleading; silence, as her father stopped taunting the wolf wielding a barbed whip.
They were dead.
"See, girl." The bloodied wolf drawled, circling the mound of twisted limbs and raw flesh like an African vulture. "This is what happens when you piss off the wrong wolf." Bending down to the body of her father, he swiped something from the pool of blood, cleaned it on his shirt, and sauntered over to her.
His massive size immediately cast a shadow over her, and, for just a moment, his body blocked the sight of her parents. The large wolf was coated in blood and tissue matter, but she could easily see the damning blue of his eyes-- the feral gleam of his dark and demented soul.
Kneeling down until he was eye level with her, he cocked his head; his large canines glistening in the light, stained red.
"I never did introduce myself, now did I?" His voice was hoarse from his "session"-- something he'd said, once, while tearing her father's nails from his broken fingers.
When she refused to respond to him, her body trembling with his proximity, he lifted the object he'd grabbed from the pile of flesh, and waved it an inch from her nose, grinning.
If her chains hadn't been anchored to the floor, she would've thrown herself backward and into the steel bars behind her, but she couldn't even get her feet beneath her, let alone move her entire body.
It was an ear, shredded and pierced with countless spiral nails.
The sobs of her mother tore through her mind-- a deep, helpless sound that had seemed to revive her dad, who'd been teetering on the cliff of life and death.
Even though her eyes were open and staring at the male crouched a foot from her, she still saw her dad trying to crawl to his mate, his digit-less hands crawling at the ground in his need to reach her, his eyes and lips straining against the thread holding them shut. Then the sickening thump of flesh meeting flesh, and he was kicked to the other side of the cell, slamming into the steel bars with an echoing crack.
That was the last time her father moved his legs, spending his final hour alive a paraplegic. Even though his body was limp and unresponsive, he was still able to move his eyes, a fact that the executioner had taken full advantage of...
When something wet and fleshy pressed against her lips, she recoiled as he ran the ear along her mouth, over her cheek, down her jaw.
"Surely you know better than to be rude, little minx." He chided, his eyes gleaming. "Didn't 'dear old mom and dad' teach you any manners?"
Her limbs were locked, frozen in place just like her dad had been. She screamed at them to move, to allow her to pull away even an inch, but she couldn't move.
Now, his attention was drawn from her face, and began to follow the path the ear was being dragged. His pupils expanded as he took in her bare breasts, splatters of blood staining her pale skin.
Tainting it.
Marking it.
He rocked back on his heels, groaning deeply, "you sure are a pretty little thing-- that's for sure."
Bile burned in her throat, clawing and tearing and slashing at her resolve, at her sanity.
They were dead.
They were dead.
They were dead.
They were dead and she was alone.
After leering at her body for a moment longer, he lifted his glowing eyes, but, this time, there was a different gleam dancing within his gaze-- within his twisted and bloody depths of depravity.
With his other hand, he trailed the back of his hand over her cheek, making sure the curve of his claws skimmed her cheekbones and the smattering of freckles there.
The breath rushed from her lungs, her chest constricting as the male clasped her chin, baring her neck.
Her heart thundered in her chest, the roar of her blood the only thing she could hear as his head lowered to brush his lips against the column of her throat.
They were dead.
He pressed his canines against her flesh, his tongue flicking out to taste the blood just beneath the surface, pulsing and thumping.
They were dead.
They were dead.
They were dead.
"Your fear..." he breathed, pressing his mouth closer. "Your fear tastes delicious."
Faster than he could jerk away from her, she lunged forward with flashing teeth, and sunk her canines into the flesh of his throat. Although the chains prevented her from pursuing him further, she'd had a clear shot-- a wolf's throat was its softest, most vulnerable body part, and their teeth were one of their strongest.
He howled in pain, immediately dropping the ear of her mother.
With a fleshy cling, the ear landed somewhere in the cell, cradled by an embrace of life and death, red and black, pain and betrayal.
Biting down deeper, she nearly gagged as his metallic blood poured into her mouth, oozing down her throat. But she didn't release him, not even when his claws descended and sank into her back, pulling and tearing.
As if he were going to tear her right down the middle.
They were dead.
With a shake of her head, she dislodged a chunk of his neck with her teeth. In less than a second, she spat the clump of flesh from her mouth, letting the still boiling blood flow from the corner of her lips, dribbling onto the floor.
This time, it was her turn to howl.
With a roar, he dragged his claws down her back, her skin giving way to his claws like melted butter.
"YOU B*TCH!" He bayed, releasing his hold on her and stumbling away. The sound of tissue squishing and bone crunching beneath his feet didn't even register to her-- all she cared about were those three little words, and the parents she'd never hug again.
They were dead, they were dead, they were dead.
They were dead, and she was alone.
They were dead, and, most likely, along with her older sister and any other family member.
She was alone.
Vaguely, she felt liquid warmth begin to flow down her sides, coating her skin like a layer of silk. Even in her knelt position, it traced the contours of her body, running along every dip and curve until the bottom of her feet, thighs, calves, ass, and hair were positively soaked. Already she was growing light-headed and weak, but she knew that the slashes he'd given her weren't enough to drain the life from her eyes... she needed to push further, needed to push him further.
She didn't want to live in a world without them-- without her family.
Snarling, he pulled himself off his ass and stormed towards her. His claws, coated in her blood and flesh, glistened in the light, standing stark against the background of crimson and shadow. His feet slapped against the slickened cement, splashing that damned liquid with every step.
"I'm going to love breaking you in." He snarled, now only two feet from her, and quickly advancing. Faster than she could blink, he was towering over her, his facial features shielded by the cover of darkness, but his blue eyes were burning.
She shook harder, but, once again, her limbs locked. She screamed at herself to move, to do anything but just sit there, but, just like her dad's had, her body ignored her desperate pleas.
Reaching down with dripping hands, he grasped her own throat. His calloused fingers were so long that, at the nape of her neck, they met and easily overlapped each other. She was a porcelain doll compared to his brute strength; a wall of glass about to be shattered by a wrecking ball.
Immediately, his hand began to squeeze tighter and tighter, building the pressure pouring into her head with every passing second.
She gasped, jerking against the chains binding her hands together.
Then, just as a haze of darkness began to creep into her vision and her head began to tingle due to the lack of oxygen, he released her throat.
Stepping back, his eyes roved over her nude, bloodied form. She could practically feel his eyes slicing through her, lingering on her breasts and the apex of her thighs...
Wheezing, she keeled over until her chest lay flat against her aching thighs, attempting to shield her body from his revolting gaze. But she wasn't submitting to him-- not now, not in an hour, and not even when the last drop of blood left her body.
She would never submit to him, to any of them.
Lifting her head off her knees, she glared at the large wolf, baring her teeth.
He cocked his head with a smirk. "Yes," he rumbled, reaching into the pocket of his jeans, "yes, I'm going to love breaking you."
A tiny silver key caught the light, so pure and young against his stained and cruel hands.
Just before kneeling in front of her, he trailed an onyx claw over her bottom lip, pressing the tip deep into the flesh there until a bead of blood swelled to the surface.
As he shoved the tiny key into the chains' lock, he bent forward and picked up the droplet with his tongue...
Once the chains fell away, dropping to the blood-soaked floor with an ear-rattling clunk, he sucked her lip into his mouth, his canines immediately seeking purchase.
They were dead.
They were dead and she was alone.
When he released her lip, and, with a hand slick with her parents' blood, fisted her hair, she closed her eyes, pushing back the tears that begged to be released, the tears that scratched at the back of her throat in sheer panic.
She wasn't naive or stupid. She knew what would happen next. And she knew, knew with every strand of hair on her bloody body, that there'd be no stopping him.
She was trapped behind enemy lines-- imprisoned in an underground bunker with a sadistic killer and two dead corpses.
There'd be no one to stop him, not anymore.
Even when he shoved her onto the floor, the blood of her parents sloshing around her, she still didn't open her eyes. She wouldn't break, she wouldn't break, she wouldn't break.
...but they were dead.
Even when he unbuckled his belt and shoved his jeans down, his hands squeezing and clawing at her flesh, she didn't open her eyes.
She wouldn't break... couldn't break.
When he entered her, pulling a strangled cry from her as a burning arrow of pain shot from between her legs and into her stomach, she still didn't open her eyes. With each thrust of his hips and slice of his claws, the pain tore through her, pulsating and throbbing to the beat of her heart. Even when he pinned her chain wrists above her head and dug his claws deeper into her hips, she didn't open her eyes.
She didn't know how long it lasted-- seconds, minutes, hours-- she wasn't sure. All she knew, all she could feel, was the pain of her taken virginity, the stuttering of her heart, the blood pouring from her newly open wounds, the hands wandering over every inch of her body... squeezing and clawing and punishing and hurting.
She couldn't break, not anymore.
She couldn't break, because how could a million little shards of glass, littered across the floor of a life once known, rebreak?
Her name was Kore Agron, and she was already broken.
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