All Chapters of Christmas In Hell: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

DamonAfter our wedding night, I swept her away to the human world. I want to show her Europe. First stop is Paris. he Parisian night clings to us like a second skin, thick with the scent of rain-soaked cobblestones and the faint metallic tang of the Seine. The city breathes below us, a living thing of flickering neon and whispered secrets, but none of it matters. Not the distant wail of a siren, not the laughter spilling from some open café window, not even the way the wrought-iron railing digs into my palms as I grip it hard enough to bend the metal. All that exists is her—Misha, stepping into the pool of moonlight like she’s been carved from it, her porcelain skin glowing as if lit from within. Her tousled blonde waves catch the breeze, strands lifting like fingers beckoning me closer, and when those blue eyes lock onto mine, something primal and possessive uncoils in my chest.I don’t wait. I don’t breathe. One step, two, and she’s against me, her body crashing into mine with a so

DamonShe shatters with a cry, her back arching, her pussy clamping down around my cock like a fist. I groan, my own orgasm tearing through me, my cum spilling deep inside her as I bury myself to the hilt and hold her there, my cock pulsing, my body trembling with the force of it.For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the distant hum of the city, the way her pussy still flutters around my cock, milking me for every last drop. But then the sound comes again—closer than ever—and this time, it’s not just a howl. It’s a growl. A snarl. The unmistakable sound of something hunting.Misha’s body tenses, her eyes flying open. “Damon—”I pull back just enough to look at her, my cock still buried inside her, my cum leaking out around my shaft. Her skin is flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses, her hair a wild halo around her face. She’s never looked more beautiful. Never looked more mine.But the sound comes again, and this time, it’s not j

MishaThe howl splits the night like a blade through silk—raw, jagged, and dripping with something worse than pain. Agony. The kind that doesn’t just hurt, but unravels. My bones hum in response, a deep, resonant thrum that climbs up my spine and settles behind my ribs like a second heartbeat. I know that sound. Not the shape of it, not the pitch—no, I know the weight of it. The way it drags at the air, thick and suffocating, like drowning in tar.I’m already moving before I realize I’ve decided.Damon’s hand slams around my wrist, his fingers digging in just shy of bruising. “Misha.” His voice is a whipcrack, low and lethal. “Don’t you fucking dare.”I twist, but he doesn’t let go. His other hand comes up, gripping my chin, forcing my gaze to his. His eyes are black in the moonlight, the blue swallowed by pupil, his face all sharp angles and fury. “You don’t know what the fuck that thing is. It could be a trap. It could be a hunter’s bait. It could be—”“Me,” I breathe.His grip falt

MishaI don’t wait.I run.The forest swallows me whole.The hybrid’s presence is a beacon, a pulsing, agonized light in the dark. I follow it, my bare feet silent on the damp earth, my breath coming in sharp, controlled bursts. The trees close in around me, their branches knitting together like fingers, like they’re trying to keep me out. Or keep her in.I don’t slow down.I burst into the clearing, and there she is.She’s not a woman. Not a beast. She’s both, and neither, a shifting mass of shadow and fur, her limbs too long, her claws too sharp, her eyes—gods, her eyes. They burn, twin brands in the dark, gold and bleeding into black.She sees me.She screams.The sound hits me like a physical blow, sending me to my knees. My power roars in answer, surging up, out, a wave of raw, untamed energy. The hybrid staggers, her form flickering, her claws digging into the earth.“No,” she rasps. Her voice is broken glass. “Stay back.”I shake my head, pushing up, my hands outstretched. “I w

“Fuck me,” I gasp. “I need your cock.”He groans, his forehead pressing to mine, his fingers pumping into me, fast, rough. “You’re soaked, Misha. Dripping for me. Always so fucking ready.”“Damon—”“Beg.”“Please—”He pulls his fingers out. I whimper at the loss, but then he’s there, his cock free, the head thick and weeping, pressing against my entrance. He doesn’t push in. He teases, dragging the tip through my folds, coating himself in my arousal.“Damon, fuck—”“Patience,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine. Then he slams home.I scream.He fills me, stretching me, owning me. His cock hits deep, so deep I can feel him in my throat, my soul. His hands grip my ass, lifting me, slamming me back down, his thrusts brutal, relentless.“You’re mine,” he snarls, his hips pistoning, his cock pounding into me. “Mine to fuck. Mine to protect. Mine to ruin.”“Yes!” My orgasm crashes over me, my cunt clamping down around him, my back arching, my nails drawing blood. “Yours, yours—”He groans,