Fated To Her Tormentors Novels & Stories

, she gave an alternative. - Having their faces broken, being trampled on, brought to clan justice, or serving it. - You choose to die by my hands or serve me. - She said. From now on, she won't converge to her limit, she wants to let those people who hurt her taste the taste of falling into the abyss! She managed to lose them, then, she used her intelligence to drug the other men who were holding her hostage, they would do worse to her. They are your enemies, they will be driven downhill into the abyss of fear.

No name, only a whispered reminder of who she used to be before everything was stripped from her. She could still feel the cold chains around her wrists. She could still hear the laughter of her captors, their voices taunting her as they shoved her down into the dirt. The Tyrant's pack—The Dreadhowl pack had been ruthless, showing no mercy to those they deemed beneath them. She had been nothing to them—a prisoner, a slave, a thing to be used and discarded. For months, she endured it. The hard labor, the punishment, the endless cycle of torment designed to break her spirit. And perhaps, in some ways, it had. She was captured for a reason—a reason only her and her captor knew.

She knew he would torture her until she begs for death but she didn't know she would be in lifetime imprisonment. She didn't understand what was her fault exactly in the entire situation. She didn't know why so much wrong was happening to her only. His behavior was getting weird and he was pulling different stances to make her life more miserable. Once her dream of having a happy life shattered in his hands and then he gave her another option that was worst than death. "Get ready for the mating ceremony. I will mark you." Now that she vaguely understood the meaning of "Marking" she also knew partially what it meant. It would be something that would entangle her with the monster which she nev

This caused her to cry yet the fire in her was building too fast. Somehow, she heard the man being warned of doing anything to her because she was meant for the old boss. Somehow, in her passion clogged mind, she felt fear and nausea and passion, causing her to feel like slaughtering herself. Yet she did not even have the energy to stand. It felt as though everything was coming to an end. Would she still end up being raped? She thought as tears cascaded silently through her eyes. Maybe she really was destined to never enjoy her life and instead just suffer.

It had been someone she knew who had betrayed her, but the memory was curiously fading, obscured by endless pain. Her tormentors had somehow managed to capture her, paralyze her so that she could feel yet not move, not even her vocal cords. She was totally helpless, vulnerable to the puny inhuman beasts tearing her body apart. She heard their taunts, the endless questions, felt the rage in them when she refused to acknowledge their presence or the pain they inflicted on her. She wanted death, welcomed it, and her eyes, cold as ice, never left their faces, never blinked, the eyes of a predator waiting, watching, promising retaliation. It maddened them, but they refused to administer the finis

Her spirit, though battered, still burned with the desire to resist, to somehow break free from the chains of their control. But what could she do? She was tied to this fate. And they knew it. They knew she was powerless, trapped in a situation where every attempt to escape would only bring more pain, more suffering. They had stripped her of her agency, reduced her to nothing more than a tool in their game.

Why? Why did fate insist on playing games with her? First, it had given her a weak body, making her the pack’s punching bag. Then, it had forced her into a mate life where she had to fight for every scrap of respect. And just when she had started carving a place for herself, fate twisted again. Her breath came out shaky. Ever. The name alone made her blood run cold. She had suffered because of Ever. She had torn her down, made her feel like nothing, turned her into a joke. And now? Now that it was finally her turn to rise, to enjoy even a sliver of happiness, she was still being tormented.

Upon reaching her bedroom she sank onto her bed, a heavy cloud of sadness enveloping her. She felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of the situation she found herself in. Deep inside, she knew she didn't want to be a mistress, a home-wrecker, but the cruel hand of fate had forced her into this heart-wrenching dilemma.

Every corner of her fate is reminding her of her past, making her bleed on and on. "I'm s-sorry" Not being able to control it anymore, she burst into tears. She thought she could avoid these events but it looks like they are attached to her like a shadow, they will join her in hell as well. Even her slumbers are now taunting her about how pathetic she was back then. Only if he could forgive her...asking for forgiveness, feels like a sin as well.

Now the tables had turned in the most deliciously terrifying way imaginable. She was no longer the untouchable predator. She was the prey. And the curse was already whispering filthy promises of what was coming: ropes and chains and enchanted toys, multiple women working in perfect, devoted harmony to edge her for hours, to overstimulate every inch of her body until she was nothing but a sobbing, squirting mess who could only beg for the next torment. Giselle licked her own slick from her fingers, tasting the sweet, musky evidence of her ruin, and felt the golden pulse inside her throb in approval.