The Freak Is The Mate Of The Lycan のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

I didn't just walk back to my room. I retreated.I moved on legs that felt both stronger and more brittle than ever, my mind a chaotic storm. The bread I’d been given in the kitchens was still clutched in my hand, now cold and dense. I hadn't eaten it. I’d just carried it, like some strange, heavy talisman.Wendy was there, anxiously waiting. She’d lit a fire, and the room was warm. When she saw my face, her own expression, which had been pinched with worry, just... crumpled."Miss? Are you... alright? Did he...?""I'm fine," I said. The words sounded hollow, false.I wasn't fine. I was... fractured."He didn't hurt you?" she whispered, her eyes flicking to my tunic, as if expecting to see new wounds."No." I dropped the loaf of bread on the table. "He... didn't hurt me."He'd just taken my entire, simple, black-and-white worldview and shattered it into a thousand grey pieces.The hate I’d clung to, the righteous, simple anger... it was still there. It had to be. He was a monster. He'

I woke up choking.My hand flew to my throat, but there was nothing there. Just the phantom press of his fingers, the ghost of his heat.I will not take you to my bed… until you ask.The words hadn't just been a wager. They were a curse. They’d haunted my sleep, twisting into feverish, suffocating dreams I couldn't control. Dreams of his silver eyes, of his hand on my skin, of that low, rumbling purr.I kicked the blankets off, my body slick with a cold sweat. The 'tool' persona, my cold, silent, empty fortress... he had shattered it. He’d walked into my study, sat at my table, and proven that my silence was a child's game to him.I wasn’t a cold, dead thing. I was a furious, humiliated, aching mess.The mate bond, the thing I had tried to starve, to ignore, to kill, was awake. It wasn't a whisper. It was a low, hungry, humiliating thrum deep in my belly, an ache that had nothing to do with my scars and everything to do with him.I hated him. I hated him with a ferocity that left me b

​I was a broken, filthy thing, and he was the god who had broken me.​Ares didn't offer a hand. He didn't show an ounce of pity. He just turned, his back to me, a silent, imperious command.​Follow.​I had to. My body was a universe of pain, my re-set shoulder a deep, sickening, liquid throb. But my pride was a harder, sharper agony. I had begged him. In front of his entire pack, I had been reduced to a weeping, broken creature, and I had asked.​He had won.​I pushed myself to my feet, my good arm shaking, my legs trembling so violently I could barely stand. The arena, which had been a wall of sound, was now a tomb. A hundred warriors, silent as the stones they stood on, watched.​They watched me, the freak, the wolf-less, bloody, and dirt-streaked... thing.They watched him, their Alpha, the monster, the king.​And they watched me limp after him.​The Enforcers, those two stone-faced guards, didn't follow. He was my keeper now. He didn't need them.​I stumbled across the training gr

My world was reduced to the space between us.His bare chest, gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat. His silver eyes, black with a possessive, primal fire. The scent of him—pine, and cold air, and the sharp, metallic tang of his exertion.He had lunged.I had no time to think, no time to run. I was still on my knees, my hand gripping the staff, my heart frozen in my chest.He didn't hit me.He landed over me, a predator's pounce, his hands slamming into the dirt on either side of my head.I was caged.Trapped beneath his body, my back to the ground, his shadow blocking out the sun.I shrieked, a high, thin, animal sound of pure terror.His face was inches from mine. He was panting, his breath hot, fanning across my cold, dirt-streaked skin."You... hit me," he growled. It wasn't an accusation. It was a statement of... awe.I was trembling so violently I couldn't speak, my good hand still clutching the staff I’d used to strike him.His eyes dropped. He looked at my hand, then at his knee

The silence after he spoke was absolute.You will not see Aiden.The command hung in the air between us, heavy as iron. He was still standing by the fire, his back to me, his bare, scarred skin gleaming in the flickering light.I lay in his bed—his massive, fur-piled, scent-saturated bed—my body a tapestry of fresh bruises and old scars, my re-set shoulder a deep, liquid throb of agony.I should have been terrified. I should have been planning escape, rebellion, something.Instead, I was just... empty.The fight, the brutal, agonizing training session, the humiliation of being carried like a broken doll... it had scraped me hollow. I was a husk. A shell.And he... he was a shadow by the fire, a dark god who had just declared absolute dominion over every aspect of my existence."Why?" I whispered. My voice was a dry, broken rasp.He didn't turn. "Why what?""Why can't I see him? He's... he's your brother. He just... he recovered. That's... that's a miracle. He should be celebrated, not