The Lycan Twin's Abused Mate

Prologue

My father stood tall above me, casting a shadow that enveloped me completely. His piercing gaze sent chills down my spine. In his hand, he held a thick, wooden rod that seemed to promise punishment. I trembled, retreating and huddling at his feet like a frightened creature.

Terror gripped my heart with icy fingers, squeezing so tight it hurt to breathe. My entire body trembled uncontrollably, violent shakes I couldn’t stop no matter how hard I tried.

Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run, to get away, to save myself, but I couldn’t move. My legs refused to obey. I was completely paralyzed, trapped by the overwhelming sense of dread that pressed down on my chest like a boulder, suffocating me, crushing the air from my lungs.

“Please... don’t kill me,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper, broken and desperate. “Please... Father, please...”

I clung to his legs with trembling hands, desperate, pathetic, searching his face for even the smallest glimmer of mercy, the tiniest hint of the father he was supposed to be.

But there was none. Nothing. All I saw staring back at me was pure, unfiltered rage burning in his eyes like hellfire. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles jumping.

His angry eyes bore into me, his brow furrowed deep with disgust, and each look sent fresh waves of cold fear crashing through me.

The memories of past beatings flooded my mind all at once—every strike that had left bruises, every cruel word that had scarred my soul. Each beating was more painful than the last, a reminder of how futile it was to hope for anything different.

How stupid I was to think maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time he would show me love instead of his fists.

My heart ached—not just from fear, but from something deeper. A deep, gnawing loneliness that lived in my chest like a hungry beast. The desperate, childish craving for a father’s love, for protection, for warmth.

A craving I knew, with soul-crushing certainty, I would never, ever satisfy. Not with him. Not with this monster wearing my father’s face.

“Father, please,” I choked out, my throat tight with unshed tears. “I’ll be good. I’ll be obedient. I promise I’ll do better. Just... please, don’t kill me. Please.”

But my desperate pleas only seemed to enrage him more. His face contorted with anger, his nostrils flaring in fury.

The rod came down.

It slashed through the air with a horrible whistling sound before landing on my back with a sickening crack that echoed through the room. White-hot pain exploded across my skin.

“Ahhh!” I cried out, my body jerking uncontrollably as the sharp, burning sting radiated through me like lightning. My breath caught in my throat, stuck there, choking me. My vision blurred as tears streamed down my cheeks in hot rivers.

How could he? My own father. The man who was supposed to protect me, to love me, to keep me safe from the monsters in the world. He was the monster. And there was no one to save me from him.

It felt like every shred of hope I’d ever dared to hold onto was being beaten out of me with each strike, leaving me empty and hollow and raw.

He struck me again. The rod came down on my shoulders.

And again. This time across my arms as I tried weakly to shield myself.

And again. My legs. My back. My sides. Over and over until my skin tore open like paper, and I felt the warm, sticky trickle of blood soaking through my clothes, staining the fabric dark.

I writhed on the cold floor, completely helpless, sobbing like a small child, my screams echoing in the dark corners of the room, bouncing off walls that had witnessed this horror too many times before.

“Stop!” I cried, my voice hoarse and ragged, barely recognizable as my own. “Please, stop! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! It hurts... Please! It hurts so much!”

But he didn’t stop. He never stopped until he was satisfied.

Instead, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, his fingers tangling in the strands and yanking upward so hard I thought he might tear it from my scalp entirely. I screamed out in pain.

His grip tightened, pulling harder, forcing my head back at an unnatural angle. I could feel his hot, angry breath on my tear-stained face and could smell the rage coming off him in waves.

The veins in his neck bulged grotesquely as he snarled down at me, his eyes wild and unfocused, lost somewhere in his fury. His hatred had consumed him completely, transforming him into something inhuman.

And I was nothing. Nothing more than a punching bag for his rage, an outlet for whatever demons drove him to this madness. I wasn’t his daughter. I wasn’t even a person to him anymore.

I tapped weakly at his arm with trembling fingers, unable to speak, silently begging, desperately praying for him to release me, to stop, to remember I was his child.

But mercy wasn’t something he knew. It had been beaten out of him long ago, just as he was beating it out of me now.