Lusia
The murmurs from the crowd that surrounded me didn't stop. I was trembling as I lay on the floor. The injuries from the shattered bottle of champagne now stung badly. I didn’t care about the people that were watching me. I had to feed my lust. My heat awoke something in me that I couldn’t control. My urges skyrocketed and I felt like I was on the moon. My vision was blurry, and I could still hear my Alpha, Finn cursing me at the top of his voice. My heart was thumping hard against my chest. I had seen this coming, that was why I had begged to be excused from tonight’s event, but he wouldn’t let me skip it. And now, I was bearing the consequences of my actions. My body was trembling and the heat between my thighs grew intense. I couldn't stop it. I couldn’t control myself. Since there was nobody else around, I was going to do it myself. I was going to touch myself. Satisfying my urges was my priority and I didn’t care about the situation I was in right now. With my trembling hands, I reached for the top of my dress and tore it apart. My breasts leaped free and one of them lay on the cold tile. I squeezed one of my breasts gently, sighing in relief and savoring the satisfaction it brought. All around me, I could hear the coos of disbelief. I guess I was tonight’s entertainment. There was no need for the ball anymore. I was shameless giving the crowd a run for their invitation. My other hand snuck into my dress and I reached for my clitoris. It was swollen already and when I touched it, a jolt of ecstasy ran through my spine. I cried out in pleasure, my voice echoing through the whole ballroom. The jazz music had stopped a long time ago. The chattering from the crowd had ceased ages ago as well. I was the entertainment and everybody was taking pleasure in that. I could hear the whispers from the crowd in irritation and disbelief as they watched me masturbate, but every shred of embarrassment I had faded away when I crashed on the ground. I was consumed by my lust and the need for it to be fed. And since there was nobody brave enough to step in to satisfy me, I took matters into my own hands, literally. “What are you doing?!” I could hear my brother yell from across the room. Though he was in the same ballroom as I, his voice seemed to be coming from far away. It looked like he wasn't talking to me. I plunged two fingers deeper into my walls and I groaned out in satisfaction. I was warm and wet, a heavenly combination. I was too busy plunging my fingers in and out of walls to notice the chaos brewing before me. I could hear the sounds of fists pounding on flesh and I swear I could hear Alpha Finn groaning. Was he under attack? It seemed so. But by whom? The Lycan King? I was confused. “Don’t. Don’t do it!” I could hear my brother beg. My eyes went up and with my blurry vision, I could see my brother lying on the floor with his tux stained with blood. His hair was ruffled and he had cuts on his cheek. There was no doubt that he had been beaten up. I could smell blood. It was his. The ballroom was quiet once more and the only thing that I could hear was the sound of intimidating footsteps that seemed to be coming towards me. My eyes managed to spot the attire of the Lycan king. He was coming my way. It seemed he was here to discipline me as well. I ruined the party for everyone. But that didn’t matter to me. All I wanted was to make sure that I was satisfied. As he walked towards me, I tried to recall his appearance and made a scenario of him, ramming his cock in and out of me with extreme savagery as I masturbated. The footsteps arrived before me, and before I knew it, I felt a strong pair of hands grab me, lifting me off the tiles. I looked up, and my blurry vision made out the face of the Lycan king. He took off his royal attire and wrapped it around my bare body, covering me from the peering eyes of everyone in the ball. His jet-black hair which covered his forehead made him look gorgeous. His icy blue eyes stared down at me, making my heart skip many beats. His well-chiseled chin was cocked to the side as he trained his eyes on me. I slipped my fingers from my walls and let them fall at my side. Before I realized what was going on, I found myself standing on my feet. My knees grew wobbly, but I could still feel a strong hand holding my shoulder. I leaned into him, my stomach churning, my chest heaving as the intensity of my heat came up again. A hard slap met my buttcheeks which stimulated me, bringing a sense of erotic satisfaction to me. I was tempted to tell him to do it again. The crowd who were watching in silence gasped at this. “Stay still,” he ordered. I obeyed, not knowing what else to do. My heels felt numb and almost nonexistent and I couldn’t help but lean on his shoulder. My grip on consciousness became fragile and before I knew it, I was being dragged out of the ballroom. I could feel the cold breeze of the night kiss my cheek and the sound of the crickets singing. I didn’t need to be told that we were outside. I could hear the sound of a car before I felt comfy. The strong grip of the Lycan king still held onto me, and I yearned for them to be inside me. “Sit still,” he urged. His voice as cold as the night’s breeze which sent a shiver down my spine. I could feel his strong hands exploring me. I could feel them on my breasts and couldn’t help but tremble in excitement. The intensity of my heat had reduced, but I still found myself yearning to be touched. And not just by anybody now, but by him. “Mmmh,” I heard him say, a mumble that hummed. I sighed as he reached for my clothes. His touch was strong yet gentle, and it made my skin tingle in excitement. I wanted him. I lifted my hand and placed it on his shoulder, his eyes came to mine, and through my blurry vision and with tears rolling down my cheeks from the intensity of my urges, I could see how icy his eyes were. Those blue eyes made my stomach churn. It made me go mad for him. I could feel the heat coming back. More intense than before. I couldn’t hold back the words that hung in my throat like a chunk of hot larva. My lips quivered as I finally spoke to them. “Fuck me,” I begged. His thin lips which complimented his well chiseled jawline stretched out flatly into a gentle smile. His reply was one I didn’t expect, but the way he spoke ignited a flame of lust that couldn’t be quenched easily. “Very well.”LusiaJust like an altar of sacrifice, the Silvermoon battleground had fallen into desolation. The blood-spattered earth was left scarred and silent as the crimson light of dawn faded into an all—too—pale and mournful gray. Bodies lay scattered: Lycans and werewolves, their eyes staring blankly, blood pooling in mud: testimony to the brutal toll war has taken. The air was heady; the metallic tang of death, the acrid burn of spent silver, and the lingering musk of fear, all combined as one intense reality. My white wolf had receded, leaving me human, tremulous, bloodied skin fraying from a once proud torn tunic, dark curls matted against a face streaked with tears. He wrapped his arms around me as if I were somehow anchored by his warmth; his icy blue eyes were guilty and relieved, Kiara's body between us, Finn's brown wolf a still shadow in the distance. My heart was a shattered mosaic; grief for my brother, but rage directed at Kiara and the truth about my parents' death, an unreso
LusiaThe Silvermoon battlefield was a crucible of despair, its churned earth a bloody quagmire, laden with shattered blades and broken bodies, while the dawn’s crimson light cast a gory veil over the slaughter. My white wolf form trembled, my fur matted with blood and mud, my muscles screaming from the pain of war, my hazel eyes burning with tears. The metallic luster of blood mingling with the hissing sound of liquid silver, the wild musk of clashing Lycans and werewolves, thickened the air. The memories of my brother Finn lying lifeless, his brown wolf form sprawled out, Dane's claws dripping with his blood, rent my heart into shreds—a wound deeper than any blade. The sound of Dane's scream of rage and guilt still echoed, a raw reflection of my grief, but I stood frozen, panting in my white wolf form, my blurred vision revealing a memory of the brother who had called me whore but was nevertheless my blood. A jagged, cruel laugh cut through the chaos, and Kiara emerged from the f
DaneThe battle at the Silvermoon lasted at the end of the frontier where this battlefield was a charnel house, a bloody churned earth strewn with broken bodies and shattered blades at dawn's crimson light bathing this hellish carnage. Finn lunged with his brown wolf, massive and snarling; a blur of fur and fangs as I braced myself against his weight slamming me to the ground, causing my ribs to explode in pain at claws raking my side, tearing through my tunic, hot blood welling. The damp earth was cold against my back, stealing my breath at the impact, green eyes blazing above me with a growl like thunder shaking my bones. Luisa's cry echoed somewhere in that fray, a knife in my heart, but I could not see her. My world narrowed down to Finn's jaws snapping mere inches from my throat.Rage surged inside me, molten tide drowning the pain, my wolf roaring within, claws scraping at my restraint. I snarled, my body rippling, bones cracking as I shapeshifted, fur black and thick, my Lyca
DaneI can hear the peaceful sounds of dawn over the Silvermoon Pack territory. It was torn like an injury, crying out into a blue sky bleeding crimson and gold. Jagged shadows stretched over broken, savage borderlands. Our small group of elite-only ten warriors, all Ironclaw Lycans hardened and silent, trekked through those frost-kissed woods; breaths steaming in the chill air, the scent of pine and damp earth sharp in my nostrils. Luisa was next to me, her gray cloak hugging her tiny body, dark curls spilling outside its hood; hazel eyes held a haunted determination. My wolf growled within me, a restless beast torn between pride in her courage, and dread at facing Finn, her brother, and Kiara, the architect of our chaos. The weight of my guilt, her parents' blood, and my failed attempt at killing Finn tore at me like a stone in my gut, but I managed to keep my eyes forward. My black tunic and armor became a second skin; my sword was heavy at my hip.We entered the clearing where li
KiaraThe courtroom of Silvermoon Pack was a fantastic catheter of all deceits—high vaulted ceilings were lost in the shadows, moonlight came through narrow arched windows, and brushed silver lances across a polished marble floor. The tapestries were designed to hang on the walls—sharp snarling wolves—woven in threads of crimson and gold. The last secret-filled air was heavy with the scents of wax-dripping candelabras and the faint musky tang of Lycan tension. I paced before the dais, my boots clicking like a metronome of dread, my dark braid swinging against my leather-clad back, my red eyes darting to the shadows as if Dane's wrath might materialize from them. While my essence usually stormed with all kinds of domination, it flickered right now with panic, rather than an uncommon crack in the usually unbreakable armor, because I failed. The plan had been assault—intense because it was meant to erode the Ironclaw. Finn was splayed across his throne: an amazing edifice made of car
Lusia Huddled against the damp stone walls, the healer's room lay cocooned in heat and shade, the lantern's swaying golden glow casting our entwined silhouettes across the still air of the damp walls as if we were ghosts locked in a frantic dance. Dane's lips, rough and unyielding, had claimed mine with an intensity that left me breathless, the pheromones a wild musky tide yet still lingering in the air, mingled with the sharp tang of herbs and the faint copper of battlefield blood on his tunic. My body was burning, the heat of my cycle with its relentless pulse, but his kiss—warm, desperate, was pouring his guilt and need into me, and it held me fast and unmoored me. Now, he's pulled back, his icy blue eyes, breath ragged, overblown by his towering frame across the cot where I lay, torn tunic clinging to my sweat-damp skin, dark curls spilling across the coarse linen. "How do you feel?" he asked, voice low, rough—the gravel thread is woven with that thickest concern and the sharp