Leseprobe
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Filled By A Werewolf In Captivity
Dlenti O'Pick
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Belletristik / Gegenwartsliteratur (ab 1945)
Beschreibung
Arya wakes when a stranger is thrown into her prison cell. "A companion for you, Kitten," the man says with a smile that does not reach his face. At first, she thinks the man thrown into the room is just another Cat Shifter, a prisoner like herself. She is proven wrong when he stirs and bares sharp fangs at her. He's a Werewolf and judging from his sheer size, an Alpha. She is in so much trouble.
~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~
Feeling guilty, she starts crying again.
"Shh... " he says quietly. "Why don't you tell me your name?" he hums.
She doesn't want to tell him, choosing instead to stare balefully at the button on his shirt. It's a shiny little button, black, but looking almost silver in certain lights. She wants it. She pokes at it with the tip of her finger and tries to cut it off with her claw, whimpering unhappy when it's not sharp enough to cut it off.
"Darling," he huffs when he peers down at her and realizes what she's trying to do. "Poor darling. How long have they kept you in here? How did they get to you in the first place? You look- you smell-" he inhales her scent and makes a thoughtful sound.
She huffs and tries to pull away at him. She doesn't smell. She's been showering every day even though the shower isn't locked.
"You don't smell injured, at least," he hums. "But all Cat Shifters are registered and tracked. The only one missing is- Oh-" he pauses, allowing her to push away from him far enough that he can tip her head up with his clawed hand on her chin.
Now that he's awake and putting his full attention on her, he looks rather terrifying. Not that he wasn't frightening before. The effect was dulled when he had his eyes closed. They're so wolf-like, such a strong and pronounced feature of his face, fierce and proud, his bones well-formed. There is a story in the scar that runs from the upper corner of his lip to his chin.
She blinks tears from her eyes and considers snapping her fangs at his fingers, but he looks so serious and upset and she knows she can't take him in a fight and it'll be stupid to try.
"You must be Tanya's girl," he hums and uses the palm of his hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, my dear," he says and he shifts her until she is sitting more comfortably in his lap, his hand splayed on the small of her back to tip her body back. He peers at her neck, observing what must be an impressive ring of bruises around her neck the exact shape of his fingers. "I'm so sorry, darling," he hums again, leaning down to press his lips against her neck.
She stops moving completely, unused to having anyone so close to her pulse. He keeps licking and lapping at her neck, the cold trail of his saliva cooling the burn he had left on her skin when he choked her.
Then, he raises his eyes to hers and leans forward to lick very slightly into her mouth.
She makes a helpless moaning sound.
He pulls away abruptly and looks her directly in her eyes. For a few seconds, everything goes still, no movement or noise, as if the whole room is holding it's breath.
They just gaze at each other.
She doesn't think anyone has ever looked at her that way in her life. It's longing and hunger, spiced with something indefinably dark and menacing. She whimpers and attempts to pull herself free once more, hands kneading helplessly at his chest, trying to make more space between their bodies.
"You made a real sweet noise for me, darling," he hums at length, leaning in to do it again, tongue darting out to lick a wet stripe up her bruised neck. "Will you make it for me again?"
