บททั้งหมดของ Bound by the Monster I Created : บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 8

Helena;I leaned back in my creaky desk chair, the glow of my laptop screen the only light in my cramped Los Angeles apartment. My fingers hovered over the keys, heart still racing from the scene I’d just finished. Chapter Two. The part where my Alpha male, brutal, scarred, and utterly merciless, finally cornered the sheltered princess and made her understand exactly who owned her now. I loved writing that kind of thing. The way he would punish her for every defiant word, the obsession mixed with cruelty that made my pulse quicken. Morally grey men who took what they wanted and broke their women beautifully in the process. It was twisted, I knew that. But it sold. And more than that, it thrilled me.I saved the document, a satisfied little smile tugging at my lips. Azalea and Valdman; my darkest story yet. I’d poured everything into their characterizations this afternoon. The innocent but stubborn princess and the vengeful king who would make her suffer every horror he’d endured. P

Valdman;I stood atop the ridge overlooking the once-proud Wakefield stronghold, the acrid smoke curling into the night sky like the souls of the damned I had sent screaming into the void. Flames devoured timber and stone alike, roaring with a hunger that mirrored my own. The cries of the dying and the broken rose on the wind; men cut down like wheat, women defiled in the dirt, children torn from their mothers’ arms. My warriors moved among the ruins with the deadliness I had forged in blood and suffering. This was victory. This was vengeance long denied.Yet it was not enough.The satisfaction I had craved for thirteen years refused to bloom in my chest. The sight of Alpha Wakefield’s head rolling across the earth should have filled me with triumph. Rather, it left a hollow ache. I had ended him too swiftly. One swing of my blade, and the man who had slaughtered my father, gutted my pregnant mother, and sold me to the Rogues like a baseborn, took his last breath. There was no slow

Valdman;The reins felt like chains forged from the coldest iron in my grip as I sat astride my massive warhorse, the beast pawing at the blood-soaked earth beneath us. Its muscles twitched with the same restrained violence that coursed through my own veins. To my right, Cade sat tall in his saddle, my Beta, ever watchful, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos I had wrought. Behind us, stretching like a river of broken flesh and shattered pride, came the survivors of the Wakefield pack; chained neck to neck, wrist to wrist, their once-proud bodies now bowed under the weight of defeat. My warriors rode alongside them like shepherds of suffering, whips resting in their hands, eager for the first sign of weakness.I counted them slowly, deliberately, letting each soul feed the hollow place inside my chest. One hundred and eighty-seven. Men with broken spirits. Women clutching what remained of their dignity. A few wide-eyed children who would learn soon enough what it meant to serve t

There was nothing extraordinary in the sound. I had heard men and women scream upon battlefields, in dungeons, and before the executioner's blade. Their suffering had seldom troubled me, and I had long since learned to disregard the pleas of those who stood condemned before my throne.But this cry...Gods.I knew that sound.My fingers stiffened, and the chamber before me began to lose its familiarity.For a terrible instant, I was a boy again, imprisoned in a filthy den, with my wrists restrained and my pleas mocked by the men who had purchased me. I remembered their laughter, the helplessness of struggling against bodies stronger than mine, and the shame of discovering that begging would afford me no mercy.I had screamed in that place.I had screamed until my throat could scarcely produce another sound, until even the Rogues grew weary of hearing my voice.And now Wakefield's daughter had cried out with the same terror.My breathing faltered.No.I had not returned to those dens. I