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49
River does not notice the incandescent look on Hadrius’ face; her gaze remains fixated on Cain. He watches his brother, then her, the same punishing smile unwavering on his mouth.
Hadrius walks out of the room then, leaving only the two of them.
Her mind is a pool of blankness.
Cain had stripped Hadrius of his skin at that moment, and now she finally understood and saw him for what he was: a wounded, abandoned, rejected man. Betrayed by his blood and heart. A Lycan reduced to the ashes of a mortal man who was just as easily vulnerable.
He could not give his mate a child, and for that, she sought out his brother as an alternative.
“He should have told you from the start,” Cain declares, an idle drifting intonation to his words. “Deceit in a relationship is not a relationship to begin with, and if he claims you to be his chosen mate, you deserve the truth.”
River stares, a feeling of numbness growing inside her, b
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The Beast's Slave 50
Planning an invasion and possible war was a feat deserving of a few weeks’ worth of work, sometimes multiple months on end, at worst a year or two. Hadrius would know for he once led the Alpha’s army into battle, claiming territory, staking lives, leaving Novus’ blood mark on darkened hallways as a symbol of his seizure.The Shadow Pack’s claim.For three centuries, he had built the kingdom from the ashes to its final grace.And in three weeks, he would take it all back.Cain sighs beside him, drawing Hadrius’ attention from the innumerable maps sprawled out before them in the study room. The table is flanked with items: compasses, ink markings and miniature structures of what would become their army.The past week had been spent in the same room from dawn to dusk, plotting and planning, restructuring and debating until finally, the foundation had been underpinned.“He will be expecting us,” Hadrius
The Beast's Slave 51
Hadrius wanted to see her every expression above his own - the tightness to her jaw slackening as his warm mouth meets the soft flesh of her inner thigh in an open mouthed kiss. His tongue presses on her burning skin, tasting sweat, her scent and his own.Hadrius buries his nose into the delicate crevice of her inner thigh and moans in theatrical exaggeration. His hot tongue drags over the hollow of her leg, and the throbbing pulse of her femoral artery, then back down again. Each time he would edge higher, graze the soft trimmed dark curls, tentatively bite on her outer lips, then release and lick a path back down. Her pussy radiates heat like an inferno inches from his rough cheek, aching for his touch.River’s hands grip his roots, demurely steering him towards her crotch but he braces a large palm on her thigh, stopping her.“Patience,” the warlord chastises, mirthful eyes dancing up to meet her glowering ones. Her face is scarlet, the hood
The Beast's Slave 52
“Your grip is loose.”“Straighten your hips.”“Power comes from the legs.”“Stop slouching.”“Higher.”“Faster.”“Harder—”River’s face flushes with the strain of exercise after yielding and unyielding her sword repeatedly for the past several hours; her arms shudder with exhaustion, her muscles tensing like overplucked bow strings. The sun rests behind a thick layer of darkened clouds, autumn’s final breeze wallowing past her sweat-slick face, stirring stray strands of hair that slip from her loose ponytail.Hadrius watches her, his gaze sharper than the blade she wields. His countenance is a blank slate despite her numerous failures, offering no reaction each time she regurgitates a mistake - only humming in disapproval when she nearly twists her ankle while racing from one end to another.“Your feet, human,&rdqu
The Beast's Slave 53
Hadrius lingers by the hallway, his form hidden in the dark shadows that lick across his skin, pressing him further in.The kitchen is not far ahead, glowing light spilling from the burning fireplace and casting the two shifting shadows within. His footsteps are noiseless as the distance between closes and their voices take on a prominent form.“...Where is your family?” Cain’s voice is husky and distinct, and holds a curious yet familiar playful edge to it. Hadrius halts by the entrance, still masked by the murmuring shadows that joined him in his eavesdropping.His human does not reply immediately, the recognisable sound of a knife cutting on a chopping board echoing throughout.The cutting falters but only slightly. “I have no family.”The warlord can almost envision his brother’s eyebrow rising to the ceiling. “An orphan?”The indignant twitching of his mate’s jaw flickers in his mind
The Beast's Slave 54
Fear.Hadrius knew that word well for it had always been something that creatures would live, swallow, breathe from one of his glances alone.Fear.He had cast it in people’s hearts, as a hot iron blade branded skin, so the warlord marked his presence with it. Scarcely had he ever felt such an emotion, and the mere thought of it felt foreign, distant- almost nonexistent.He thought he would never have to feel such a way again.But here. Now. Staring at his human, poised at the table with her fingertip sliced clean- the warlord finally feels the unfamiliar emotion surge through his veins like ice cold fire.“Human-” Hadrius’ voice cracks like chords tearing. His throat constricts with sound. There is blood. Bright blood spilling like a secret on the table, trickling down the cupboard, dripping onto the floor in puddles of poppy petals.Yet she does not notice the inflicted wound, her own incredulous eye
The Beast's Slave 55
River sits on the toilet seat, silently cradling her throbbing hand.It burns with a blinding intensity that momentarily robs her of coherence until all she can do is whimper and rock back and forth. The stabbing heat, however, is no match for Hadrius’ words and despite her maimed state, she manages a faint scowl.The shifting in her peripheral view reminds her that she is not alone.“How’s the hand, girl?”Cain still leans against the doorframe, a rugged hellhound peering from between his legs. She casts a weary, sidelong glance to the man, then the hellhound whose lips part only further as their gazes lock. Its serpent-like tongue lolls out, slobbers of drool like ropes puddling on the floor.River averts her attention back to her injured hand. It still bleeds and her shirt grows sticky. “It hurts,” she admits with an obvious, harsh edge to her tone.Cain pushes off the wall and approaches her. Wordlessl
The Beast's Slave 56
The warlord feels his body ache defiantly from the insistent and abrupt shifting. His bones feel like lead, muscles pulled taut like strings on a bow. Yet he cannot bring himself to relax, the rising anger in him only spewing magma through his veins and down his spine, out into the universe.He turns to the new mortal now hunched over in the corner, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Her nut-brown skin glows with beaded perspiration, smudges of bright blood from a group of people he did not remember slaughtering to find her, now blemishing her ruddy cheeks. Her wide, frightened eyes grow fixated on the warlord, then Cain, and finally River.Conflicting emotions braid her dark green eyes, perhaps calculating the distance of escape- or wondering if River is friend or foe.Hadrius grits his jaw harshly and crouches low to grab the discarded knapsack. He rips the flimsy material open and its contents fall and scatter onto the floor. “This is everything you nee
The Beast's Slave 57
The warlord studies his mate for a brief moment: the hardened set of her shoulders; chin tilted up just enough to exude confidence or a lack thereof. Pitted dark circles of exhaustion line the underneath of those dull brown eyes that watch him.He sinks back into the pillow. “We will speak of it tomorrow.”She sucks in a sharp whistling breath as though he had slapped her. “Hadrius-”“Tomorrow.”The dangerous tilt to his tone is as brittle as glass, pricking at the centre of her chest. Rolling onto his side in finality, the warlord shuts his eyes and steadies his breathing, indifferent to the cold finger of dread that touches his heart.She remains silent and shuffles.Even with his eyes closed, Hadrius can almost envision the slight rush of red to her paling cheeks, the weak slumping of her mouth as she tries to scowl but is too tired to do so, along with the balling of her fists.River draw
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