Page 13 of Come for Me
One had to be soulless to fight against fellow werewolves. We’re meant to be a civilized species; we have evolved. But those massacred at my feet are a sign of the true nature of rogues and vampires, preferring to perish than parlay.
Being in a clan is important for a vampire’s survival and easier access to human blood. This hardship brings uncertainty and instability, not to mentionhunger. Like anyone, when hungry, it can be impossible to focus, but for vampires, it’s deadly. It makes them crazed, their careless mistakes inevitable. This detriment leads to their quick beheading under my pack’s canines.
Let tonight serve as a reminder.
“Let’s move out,” I instruct my men.
Any warrior mated will join me tonight except for Sam. Sam and I participated in the Hunt ourselves after we turned twenty-one, hoping to find our mate. Neither of us had, and the constant disappointment was exhausting. Other alphas and betas could take a mate, but being king came with different rules.
I told Sam he had my permission to choose a mate. He wasn’t held to the royal council’s same standards, but Sam didn’t mind not being tied down, allowing him to sleep around. It’d probably take finding his fated mate for him to stop.
Between the increasing rogue attacks and the pressure the council has put on me to find a mate, I’ve never been more stressed. Ever since my parents died and I became king, the privy council has been pushing me more.
Up until now, I’ve dodged their matchmaking efforts and refused to mate if she wasn’t my fated. But at twenty-eight, I’m the oldest alpha without a luna, and my strength has been dwindling. If I want to be strong for my pack, I must take a chosen mate, or we’ll all suffer.
That’s why a marriage has been arranged for me—to a vampire who has a claim to the vampire throne. The intention is to join forces against a common enemy, in hopes the attacks will subside.
Once I mark her as mine and bond myself to her, our combined species will be lethal. Aside from this, mating with a living corpse is comical and far from something I want.
The trek back to my pack is tiring. Normally, I’m relieved to return, but my home is currently overrun by the festivities of the Hunt. I can’t wait until it’s over. The idea of horny males and she-wolves overrunning my castle doesn’t appeal to me.
It’s the same thing every season, yet the futile attempts of unmated she-wolves throwing themselves at me become more obnoxious and pathetic. It never fails. Bitches stray from the Hunt to try and capture my eye.Hoping this would be the year I grow tired of waiting for my mate and choose them, in a desperate effort, they would hand their pussy to me on a platter.
Sometimes, I indulge in their desires to serve their king, but no bitch could fuck me into oblivion and make me stupid enough to mark a chosen over a fated.If only they knew just how patient I can be.
If it weren’t for the council, I’d wait forever for her. But they’re right; my kingdom can’t afford to hold out for their queen much longer.
I’m irritated and exhausted. I don’t have the patience to be a “good host” to greedy she-wolves who await me. They aren’t the release I need. I’ve failed my people by not getting answers.
I don’t want their pleasure. I want their pain.
Normally, when I feel this way, I break in new prisoners to take the tension off. But with attacks happening almost every day, my collection of captives have grown at an impressive rate.
Unfortunately, I’ve broken them all into submission. They’re conditioned to quiver when my boots thump past their cells. When my laughter booms through the dark corners of my dungeon, panic sets in, and they can’t tell from the echoes where I’m coming from or who I’m coming for. The stench of centuries-old piss and sweat follows in response to the terror I instill.
Long gone is the bravery they encompassed when they first entered my lair. The smart mouths I enjoyed smacking learned not to speak unless spoken to and never questioned whether I made good on my threats. I always follow through—an innocent’s life means nothing if my kingdom is at stake.
I can’t relieve myself by breaking in new prisoners. Now I have no choice but to find solace in a naive she-wolf with the first one stupid enough to rub themselves against me.
I won’t just test their limits. I’ll break them.
Unlike the Hunt, I won’t have to chase my prey. They’ll come to me. My power and ability to command will lure them to me, like a moth drawn to a flame.
“Oh, King Dax, I’ll do whatever you want.”
Of course she will, and I always grin. What can I say? I like it when my prey steps into their own trap. It makes for a sweeter kill knowing they did this to themselves.
They don’t make me work for it, but I damn sure make them work for me. They tell themselves they crave my torturous ways to justify not using their safe word. Of course, they always consent to this—I’m sadistic, not a rapist. They’re told they canstop. They have the power to end their suffering. They just never do.
And that’s what makes their willful sacrifice so fucking savory. The chance to be at my side isn’t something they want to forfeit, and in the end, I always chuckle, impressed with how far the next is willing to go. The last one, I had lick my cum off the floor with a leash in hand. Their desperation to climb the social ladder is astounding.
With my attention on them and a smile, they’re caught with no chance of escaping. My facade as a pleasure lord elicits moans and promises to do whatever I want. The man behind the smile is revealed when my true sadistic, defiant nature sets in.
“Whatever I want?” I coo.
In truth, I count on their determination to please their king. I know they will—that’s what makes this game so fun. By the time my canines break their skin enough to have blood trickling down their neck, they’re won over by false promises of pleasure.
They think I’m going to mark them, claim them as mine with my bite.
