BOUGHT BY CRUELEST ALPHA
The sea isn’t right.
It moves wrongthink, sluggish, like syrup. The waves don’t crash. They slap against the shore, wet and meaty, leaving streaks of crimson behind. The air reeks of salt and iron, clinging to my skin, my hair, the inside of my mouth.
Not my mouth. His.
The First Alpha stretches my limbs, testing, always testing. My fingers trail through the water. It parts like oil, staining my skin red.
"Pretty," he murmurs with my voice.
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