Chapter 8

Natasha's POV

The door slammed shut with a sound like a coffin sealing.

She'd seen me. Seen everything. My naked body, my fingers inside myself, the desperate animal I'd become. And now she was gone, probably running to fetch the guards, to report her discovery.

Any moment now, they'd come bursting through that door and drag me to—

The door flew open again.

I scrambled back against the wall, trying to cover myself with my hands, but it was only the girl. Lucy, I'd heard someone call her. She had two buckets now—one sloshing with clean water, the other with what looked like ice.

Ice? Where had she gotten ice in this hellish place?

"Lie back," she ordered, her voice sharp with urgency. "We don't have much time."

"Why are you helping me?" My voice came out as a croak. "You should be—"

"Shut up." She knelt beside the pallet, tore a strip off her own apron, and dunked it in the ice water. "Just... shut up and let me work."

The cold cloth touched my forehead, and I nearly sobbed. The relief was immediate but painfully inadequate. The fire inside me barely noticed the cold.

Lucy worked quickly, wiping down my face, my neck. When she pressed the freezing cloth against my chest, I gasped—half from shock, half from the way my nipples hardened even further, becoming almost painfully sensitive.

"You're burning alive," she muttered, wringing out the cloth and soaking it again. "I've never felt anyone this hot before."

She wiped down my arms, my ribs, my belly. Each touch of the cold cloth brought temporary relief that faded within seconds. The heat just kept building, a furnace in my blood that no amount of ice water could extinguish.

When Lucy's cloth moved lower—over my hips, the tops of my thighs—I couldn't suppress the whimper that escaped my throat. My legs fell open involuntarily, shameless, desperate.

"What's happening to me?"

"You're one of the rare ones," she muttered, more to herself than me. "Feral Heat. Most human girls can't get it. But those who can..." She paused, wringing out the cloth. "You need to understand something. What you're feeling right now—that hunger, that need—it's not going to go away on its own. Not completely."

"What do you mean?" I gasped as she pressed ice against my throat.

"It means your body is responding to them. The Lycans. Their scent, their presence. Your blood recognizes them as..." She struggled for words. "As compatible mates."

The horror of it must have shown on my face because she made a sound that might have been a bitter laugh.

Lucy met my eyes. "You're what they call an Endurer."

The word hung in the air between us, heavy with implications I didn't want to understand.

"The Wolf King," Lucy continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "he goes through girls like firewood. Breaks them. Tears them apart. They don't survive the night—most don't survive an hour. But endurer can..." She swallowed hard. "Can take it. Can survive being mounted by a beast that size."

I felt bile rise in my throat.

"That's what you are," she said. "That's why your body is reacting this way. You're compatible. And if they find out—if any of the Wolf Lords realize what you are—they'll drag you to the King immediately. Because you're valuable. Rare. Precious."

"I'm not," I choked out. "I'm just—I'm nobody. I'm a fisher's daughter from—"

"It doesn't matter where you're from." Lucy stood abruptly, wringing out the cloth one more time. "What matters is keeping this secret. Both of them. The fact that you're a girl, and the fact that you're an Endurer."

Lucy froze. "I... I need to cool you down properly. It's worst there, isn't it? Between your legs?"

I could only nod, tears streaming down my face.

She hesitated, then pressed the freezing cloth directly against my pussy.

The sensation was electric. The cold against that burning, swollen flesh should have been a relief. Instead, it sent a jolt of intense pleasure through me that made my back arch off the straw. A moan tore from my throat before I could stop it.

"Quiet!" Lucy hissed, but she didn't pull the cloth away. Instead, she pressed it more firmly against me, holding it there as I writhed beneath the touch.

It felt so good. Too good. The cold pressure against my aching clit, the fabric rough against my oversensitive flesh. My hips began to move, grinding against her hand, seeking friction, seeking relief.

She moved it. Slow, deliberate strokes over my swollen flesh, the cold friction sending sparks through my entire body. My hips moved with her rhythm, shameless, desperate.

"Does it help?" she whispered.

"Yes. No. I don't—" I couldn't form coherent thoughts. Could only feel the building pressure, the tightening in my core. "Don't stop. Please don't stop—"

She didn't. Her hand moved faster, pressing harder, and I could feel myself climbing toward that peak again. My inner walls clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled, while that swollen nub sent lightning through me with every stroke of the cloth.

"I'm going to—" I couldn't finish the sentence. My body seized, back arching, a strangled cry escaping my throat as another orgasm crashed through me.

Lucy's hand stilled, the cloth pressed firm against my spasming pussy as I rode out the waves. I could feel fresh wetness gushing over the fabric, soaking it, dripping down onto the straw.

For a moment, there was blissful relief. The fire dimmed to embers.

Then it roared back to life.

"No," I whimpered. "No, no, no—"

But my body was already responding, the heat building again, the emptiness screaming to be filled. If anything, the orgasm had made it worse—like showing a starving person a crumb of bread and then snatching it away.

"No." My voice broke. "Please, don't stop—"

My words were cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside.

We both froze.

"—check the male quarters," a gruff voice said. "Make sure none of them are causing trouble."

Guards.

Lucy's eyes went wide with panic. She grabbed the buckets, thrust the wet cloth into my hands, and hissed, "Cover yourself. Now. And for God's sake, be quiet."

She slipped out the door, pulling it almost shut behind her. I heard her voice, bright and false: "Just cleaning the floors, sir. All the cells are secure."

I lay on the straw, naked and trembling, the wet cloth pressed between my legs in a futile attempt to muffle the need. Through the gap in the door, I could hear the guard questioning Lucy, her nervous replies.

If he looked in. If he saw me like this...

The footsteps moved on. The voices faded.

But the heat remained.

And I knew, with terrible certainty, that it wasn't going to stop.

Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

I curled around the wet cloth, biting down on my fist to keep from screaming, and prayed for dawn.