Chapter 4 Taste of Revenge

A week had dragged by since they dragged Felda back in chains. The whole pack spat her name like poison. They whispered she was the curse that hollowed out their king, their next heir got lost.

Nobody spoke to her. Nobody except Lady Eve, and even Eve, could slip her extra scraps or a quick glance when the king's orders allowed it.

King Daze himself had forced Felda to walk every corner of the territory with the guards to search for his missing daughter. There was nothing. No trail, no whisper of Tovanna's small laugh on the wind. Every empty day carved another scar into his hate.

He still hadn't snapped her neck. Not yet.

Today the rage had cooled just enough for something uglier to burn underneath. His body ached. His wolf clawed at the inside of his skull, restless, starving. Five years with Suri had trained him to wait for her... soft mouth, willing thighs, familiar rhythm. He sent the summons.

No answer.

He paced the chamber once, twice. The silence mocked him. His cock strained against his trousers, heavy, insistent. He dropped into the carved throne chair, yanked the laces open, and wrapped his fist around himself.

Rough strokes. Fast. Angry. It wasn't enough. His growl rumbled low, half pain, half fury. Precum slicked his palm but the edge stayed out of reach.

Then there was aknock. The announcer's voice came through the thick woods.

"Your Majesty, your slave is here with your meal."

His head jerked up, his breath caught at the realization.

Why suffer when a warm hole waited right outside?

Why suffer when he could use his slave?

"Let her in." His voice came out thick, edged with gravel.

The doors groaned open. Felda stepped through, her head bowed, her bare feet silent on cold stone. That black scrap of her slave gown barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

Every step made her press her legs together, trying to hide what the short hem refused to cover. The fabric clung where sweat or maybe fear had dampened it.

She reached the table, and her hands were trembling so hard the tray rattled. "Here… is your food, Y-your Majesty."

A bowl tipped. Broth sloshed over the rim.

King Daze's lip curled. "You can't even carry a fucking tray without spilling. You can't walk straight. You're so useless."

She flinched but kept her eyes on the table. She didn't see his fist still working beneath the wood, she didn't see the way his knuckles whitened.

"Kneel.," he commanded.

Her knees hit stone fast, too fast, her heart slamming against her ribs.

"Crawl."

She hesitated, one heartbeat then dropped to her palms. The stone scraped her skin raw as she dragged herself forward. Slow. Deliberate. When she was close enough, he shoved the heavy table aside with one booted foot. The scrape echoed.

Her eyes flicked up at the sound.

He was stroking himself openly now. Thick, veined, flushed dark. Beads of precum glistened at the tip.

"Maybe you'll be useful after all," he muttered.

His free hand shot out, his fingers twisting into her blonde hair. He yanked her forward and shoved past her lips in one brutal thrust.

Felda gagged hard. Throat spasmed. Tears sprang instant and hot.

He didn't pause. He gripped her skull with both hands now, fucking her mouth in short, punishing strokes. Saliva spilled from the corners of her lips and dripped down her chin. She tried to push at his thighs, weak, desperate. He caught her wrists, twisted them behind her back, and held them pinned with one massive hand.

"You forget you're a slave now? You're no more queen." His voice was low and dangerous. "There's no more running. No mercy. I decide what to do with my slave."

He pulled her off just long enough to let her suck in a ragged breath. Cum and spit strung between her swollen lips and his cock. Her cheeks flushed bright, her eyes glassy.

"You shouldn't have touched my life," he snarled, leaning close so his breath burned her face. "You shouldn't have killed my mate."

"I..." Her voice cracked, small.

He shoved back in before the word finished. Deeper. Her nose pressed to his pelvis. She choked, her body jerking. He held her there until black spots danced in her vision, then pulled out just enough for her to cough wetly around him.

He groaned, long, guttural. The sound vibrated through her.

One more deep thrust and he spilled down her throat. Thick pulses. She swallowed reflexively and when he finally let go, she crumpled forward, gasping, coughing, tears streaming.

He wasn't soft.

Not even close.

He hauled her up again by the hair, spun her, and slammed her chest down across the table. Wood bit into her ribs. Her bound hands scrabbled uselessly at the small of her back.

"Please, master..." The plea came out thin, broken.

He flipped the hem of her gown up. Fabric ripped, her thin undergarment shredded in one yank. Cool air hit wet skin. He kicked her feet wider, lined himself up, and drove in with no warning.

Felda screamed, sharp and raw.

He froze for a second buried to the hilt, feeling her clench around him like a fist. It was hot, slick, and too tight. Something primal snapped in his chest. His wolf howled inside him, his claws scraping bone.

"Stay still." He growled the words against her ear.

Then he moved.

Hard. Deep. Relentless.

The table rocked with each slam. Skin slapped skin, loud, obscene, echoing off stone walls. Felda's sobs broke into sharp cries every time he bottomed out.

Her thighs trembled, her muscles jumping. She came the first time without warning, her body seizing, her inner walls fluttering around him. He felt it. Felt her soak him. He hated how good it was.

Yet he didn't stop.

He fucked her through it. Through the second one, too, when her cries turned hoarse, and her knees buckled. Blood tinged the slickness now, copper-sharp under the musk of sex. Still, he kept going. Longer than with his whore, Suri. Longer than he ever had.

His mind spun.

Why wouldn't his body finish?

Why did every thrust pull a deeper growl from his throat?

Why did her tears make him want to destroy her more?

He yanked out suddenly. Blood-streaked cum dripped from her swollen entrance onto the floor. She sagged, thinking it was over. Tried to push up on shaking arms.

His palm cracked between her shoulder blades."I'm not done, slave."

He fisted her ass, spread her wider, and teased the head of his cock against her abused hole. She whimpered. Begged again. Soundless now, just air and broken sounds.

He sank back in. Slower this time. Let her feel every inch stretching her open again. Then he snapped his hips forward, brutal, and punishing.

Felda's scream cracked into silence. Her body jerked like a puppet.

He lost track of time. Lost track of everything except the wet heat gripping him, the way her cries fed the monster inside. His claws pricked her hips drawing thin red lines.

One last brutal thrust. His cock pulsed, thick ropes of cum flooded her. He ground against her ass until every drop was buried deep.

He pulled out slowly and watched his seed and her blood trickle down her shaking thighs.

"You're useful," he rasped. "Finally."

He dropped back into the chair. Chest heaving.

"Get. Out."

Felda couldn't move at first. Her legs wouldn't hold her. She slid off the table in pieces, her gown rucked up, her thighs slick and trembling. Cum dripped steadily down her legs. She grabbed the torn scrap of her underwear, clutched it to her chest like it could hide anything.

Daze's eyes followed her cold and empty.

She stumbled toward the door. One step. Two. Each one sent fresh pain spiking through her core.

At the threshold, she paused... just a second. Her voice came out small, cracked, almost too quiet to hear.

"I never killed her."

"Please... Believe me."

The words hung in the air.

King Daze's head snapped up.

But Felda didn't look back. She slipped through the door and it thudded shut behind her.