Romane von Syl_vaine

A hand fists in my hair.Hard. Violent. Yanking my head back so sharply that I choke on river water."What the fuck do you think you're doing?"The voice is a snarl, low and furious and terrifyingly familiar. I thrash, trying to pull free, but the grip on my hair is unbreakable, an iron chain dragging me backward, dragging me toward the shore."Let me go!" I scream. "Let me go, let me—"Another set of hands—different hands, larger hands—pries Emery from my arms. She shrieks, a high, terrified sound that cuts through me like a blade, and I fight harder, clawing at the arm that holds me, kicking at the mud."No! Give her back! Give me back my sister!""Shut up." The voice is right against my ear now, hot breath and cold fury. "Shut your mouth before I shut it for you."I am dragged out of the water and thrown onto the muddy bank. I land hard on my side, my bruised ribs screaming, river water streaming from my clothes and hair. I gasp for breath, coughing up water, my whole body shaking

The walk to the river takes an hour.I carry Emery on my back for most of it. She is not heavy—she is six years old and small for her age—but my bruised ribs ache with every step. I do not complain. I do not stop. The sun is rising now, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, but I barely notice. My eyes are fixed on the water ahead.The riverbank is deserted at this hour. It is a forgotten stretch of shoreline, far from the manicured parks and the pedestrian bridges, where the city's waste collects in the reeds and the water moves slow and dark toward the sea. A rusted chain-link fence marks the boundary between land and water, but someone cut a hole in it years ago, and no one ever bothered to fix it. I duck through the gap, Emery still on my back, and step onto the muddy bank.The sound of the river fills my ears like a lullaby. It would be so easy. So peaceful. Just walk in, and keep walking, and let the water do the rest.I set Emery down on the grass near the edge. She look

I do not know how long I lie there. Minutes. Maybe longer. The pain is a dull roar, a constant hum that makes it hard to think. Eventually, I push myself up onto my hands and knees. Every movement sends fresh agony through my ribs. My lip is still bleeding. I taste salt and copper.I crawl to the door. I reach up, fumbling for the handle. It takes three tries, but I get it open and drag myself inside.The apartment is dark. Quiet. I close the door behind me and lean against it, breathing through the pain. I need to clean myself up. I need to think. I need to figure out what to do."Riri?"The voice is small. Scared. It comes from the corner of the room, from the shadows near the mattress.My heart stops.Emery is awake.She is sitting on her mattress, her knees pulled up to her chest, her dark eyes wide and wet. She has been crying. She has been crying for a while."Riri, what happened?" Her voice trembles. "There were men at the door again. I heard them talking. They were saying mean

The rest of the walk home is a blur of self-hatred and exhaustion. I replay the night in fragments—the bar, the drink, his eyes finding me across the dim room, the weight of his body on mine, the sharp pain of the bite, the strange, terrifying pleasure that came after it. Each memory is a fresh wound. I prod at them like a tongue prodding a sore tooth, unable to stop.By the time I reach my building, the sky is beginning to lighten at the edges. Gray pre-dawn light seeps through the clouds, turning the world into a watercolor of exhaustion. My feet ache. My neck throbs. My eyes feel like they have been scrubbed with sandpaper.And then I see them.The men in suits are back.They are standing outside my apartment door—the same three from before, their broad shoulders filling the narrow hallway like monuments to my failures. The Alpha is leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his pale gray eyes fixed on the door like he can see through it. The other two flank him, silent and patient an

The door slams behind me, and I am running before I know my legs are moving.Not running. Fleeing. There is a difference. Running is what you do when you are late for work. Fleeing is what you do when you have just let a stranger put his mouth on your neck and his hands on your body and his mark in your skin, and you did not fight, you did not scream, you let him.The hallway blurs past me. The stairwell swallows me. My shoes slap against concrete, and the sound echoes, and I do not stop until I burst through the building's side exit into an alley that smells of garbage and rain and the sharp, metallic tang of my own self-hatred.I bend over, hands on my knees, and try to breathe. The air is cold. It stings my lungs. Good. I want it to sting. I want something to hurt that is not the ache between my legs or the bruise forming on my neck where his teeth sank in.What did I do?The question circles my brain like a trapped bird, beating its wings against the inside of my skull. What did I

Pain and pleasure exploded through me at the same time. His teeth sank into my skin and I came—hard, screaming, clenching around him so tight I felt him shudder. He growled against my neck as he bit deeper, sealing the claim, and I felt something hot flood inside me.His knot locked us together.I'd never felt anything like it. The way he swelled inside me, trapping himself there, pumping rope after rope of come into my body. I was so full I thought I'd burst. But I didn't want it to stop. I wanted more. I wanted everything.He lifted his head. Looked at me. There was blood on his mouth. My blood."Mine," he said."Yours," I agreed.And then I passed out.I woke up to a terrible headache.It took me a second to remember where I was. Another second to realize I was naked. Another after that to feel the soreness between my legs.Then I smelled him.Still there. Still wrapped around me. His knot had gone down sometime while I slept but he was still inside me, soft now, holding me like he