Ch. 96..100: Breed Me, Daddy Alpha chapter 96-100

Favorite Sin 96

~Damon~

When I received the call from my neighbor informing me that Camilla had a gun to her head, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t freeze.

I didn’t even stop thrusting. There was no panic in my blood, no spike in adrenaline, no sudden jolt of concern racing up my spine. Nothing. Not even a f*****g heartbeat out of rhythm.

All I felt was annoyance.

A deep, simmering, venom–laced kind of irritation that spread through my chest like acid. Not fear. Not worry. Not even curiosity. Just a cold, bitter fury that she would dare interrupt me while I was still buried balls–deep inside Lyra.

I was still coming down from the high of my orgasm, my c**k still twitching from the aftershocks, the veins

still swollen, the base still thick and hot and pulsing.

And Camilla?

She wanted to kill herself?

What the actual f**k did that have to do with me?

I didn’t even reach for the phone out of care. I didn’t answer it because I gave a damn about her life. I picked

it up because the buzzing in my coat pocket kept vibrating against my hip with the kind of persistence that

killed my rhythm.

It was annoying. Distracting. I was trying to enjoy the sound of Lyra’s soft, whimpering cries as her

overstimulated cunt kept spasming around my c**k, and the goddamn phone wouldn’t stop.

So I answered it.

“Damon,” the voice on the line finally said, rushed and breathless. “It’s your neighbor. Camilla’s outside your

house. She’s holding a gun to her head.”

I smiled. Not out of joy. Not out of concern. But because of the sheer absurdity of it.

The moment those words hit my ears, I slammed into Lyra. Hard. Brutal. Deep enough to make the table creak and groan beneath us. Her gasp ripped through the air like she hadn’t been ready for it. Her legs buckled slightly, and I didn’t let her fall.

Her entire body was still fluttering. Still drenched. Still riding the waves of the orgasm I had already wrung out of her minutes ago, and all I could think about was how f*****g incredible it felt to still be inside her.

Not the call. Not the drama. Not the suicidal woman screaming in my driveway. Just Lyra’s heat. Her -tightness. Her wetness. The obscene slick sounds of my c**k moving inside her.

“She’s screaming,” the man continued, clearly shaken. “She said if you don’t come to her, she’s going to blow her brains out. Right here. In the driveway.”

I almost laughed.

Not because it was funny. But because it was so predictable. So like Camilla. So entirely on brand for the

< The Choice

emotionally manipulative, attention–starved b***h who had never once been able to take a damn ‘no‘ like a f*****g adult.

“She said it’s your fault,” the guy added, his voice trembling like that was supposed to do something to me.” She said she wants you to see it.”

See it? What the f**k does that even mean.

“Damon,” he tried again, panicked now. “You need to come now. She’s-”

I cut him off. Not with words. With movement.

I slammed into Lyra again. Harder. Deeper. Her mouth fell open, and a sound escaped her throat that wasn’t

even a moan anymore. It was something feral. Something unholy. Something completely owned.

“I don’t give a single f**k if she pulls the trigger,” I said finally, my voice low and lethal, grinding my hips into

Lyra with such slow, cruel pressure that her back arched and she whimpered.

“Let her do it. Let her blow her miserable f*****g brains out and paint my driveway with the filth I never wanted in the first place. I am not leaving my Luna. I am not saving her. And I sure as hell am not stepping

out until I’ve made my Luna come again.”

Lyra whimpered beneath me. Not because she was scared. Not because she was shocked. But because the sound of me saying that–the raw, vicious truth of me choosing her while I was still deep inside her–sent her over the edge again. Her cunt clenched around me. Tight. Hot. Grateful. Mine.

“I’m still inside her,” I told the man on the phone, my voice shaking with pleasure. “I’m still f*****g hard. She’s still dripping. And I’m going to f**k her again before I even think about Camilla.”

I didn’t wait for a reply.

I dropped the phone. Let it fall to the floor. Then I kicked it under the table with my boot like it was trash. I didn’t give a s**t if the line was still open. I didn’t care if the man was still screaming on the other end. None

of it mattered.

All that mattered was Lyra.

Bent over in front of me. Shivering. Moaning. Still dripping my c*m.

She looked back over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wild, her lips parted in disbelief. Her hair was stuck to her face with sweat and s*x, and her whole body looked like it had been loved too rough and too real.

“Are you serious?” she whispered. “She’s outside right now with a gun, and you’re still-”

“Yes,” I answered instantly, cutting her off. I bent forward, letting my chest press against her spine while my c**k stayed buried deep inside her. “She’s outside. I’m inside you. That’s how serious I am.”

I kissed her shoulder. Bit her neck. Dragged my tongue across the shell of her ear while her breath hitched

again.

“You are what I want, kitten,” I whispered. “Not her. Never her. She was a contract. A f*****g human leash they shoved into my bed just because I didn’t have a mate. But you”

I paused. My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to claw its way out. My c**k throbbed inside her. I leaned closer. Pressed my lips against her ear.

“But you,” I murmured, “you are my fate”

214

The Choice

“But Damon,” she breathed, and f**k, the way she said my name–like it hurt her to even speak it–made my c**k twitch inside her. “Please.”

I didn’t move.

I stayed bent over her, letting her feel the full heat of me against her back, letting my palm slide down her

belly like I was reminding her exactly who she belonged to. But I didn’t answer. I waited. I made her say more.

“Please just…” Her voice cracked, and her brows furrowed, like she hated herself for even thinking it. “Just

let’s go back to the house. Make sure she’s not actually going to–”

“To what?” I cut her off, my voice dark and steady. “Make sure she’s not going to kill herself?”

Lyra swallowed hard.

“I know she’s a b***h,” she said quickly, her voice rushing out in a messy stream, like she was trying to speak

before I punished her for it.

“I know she’s manipulative and crazy and I f*****g hate her, I swear I do. But if she’s really going to do it, Damon–if she really pulls the trigger–I don’t want you to blame yourself later. I don’t want that to live in your

head.”

I stared at her.

Hard.

Unmoving.

I watched her eyes. Her lips. Her trembling thighs.

“I’m not going to blame myself,” I said calmly, like I was telling her the weather. “Because I don’t give a fuck.”

Lyra gasped.

“I don’t care if she’s outside choking on her own blood right now. I don’t care if her brains are already sliding down the pavement. You want me to pull out of this perfect, soaking, c*m–dripping cunt and go see Camilla. Over my f*****g dead body.

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Because her eyes had gone wide again, her breath catching in her throat as I started to f**k her slowly again.

“She can die out there for all I care,” I hissed, my teeth brushing her ear. “Let the grass soak it up. Let the

crows pick her apart. Let her name rot in the f***** soil. But you, Lyra–you stay right f*****

g here.”

“But Damon,” she whispered again, tears burning her voice now. “What if she’s really hurt? What if she’s not faking this time? What if you open the door tomorrow and find her body there, just–just lying there?”

“Then I’ll walk over it,” I snapped. “I’ll step over her corpse with your scent still all over me, and I’ll carry you to breakfast like nothing happened.”

She whimpered.

Her whole body curled around the truth of it.

Because she knew I meant it.

The Chore

Because she knew I wasn’t bluffing.

Because she knew I would choose her over the entire !*****g world.

But she still couldn’t help it. Her heart was too soft. Her voice too trembling. Her hands fisted the table like maybe just maybe–there was still some mercy in her.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please just make sure she doesn’t die.”

I grabbed her hair again. Pulled her head back until her throat was stretched and vulnerable, her mouth parted, her eyes fluttering like she was caught between guilt and lust.

“You want me to stop f*****g you to go check up on a woman, who would rather see you dead?”

“I want you to stop pretending you’re not human,” she said, eyes glistening now, voice shaking. “Because you are. You feel. And no matter how much you hate her–deep, down, somewhere–you know you’ll never forgive yourself if you find her corpse tomorrow.”

“Okay. Fine, kitten. You won” I said, my voice low and sharp as a blade. “Let’s go.”

I pulled out of her, slow and heavy, watching the way her body reacted–her back arching, her breath catching, her thighs trembling as the thick mess of my c*m spilled out of her and slid down her legs like a goddamn

signature.

I stood upright, adjusted my pants with steady hands, then ran a palm down my face and let out a breath

through my nose.

“Let me be clear about something,” I said suddenly, my voice low, heavy with steel. “If I pull up to that house and find her standing and breathing then I swear to every god I’ve never bowed to, I will take you back home, bend you over the war table, and f**k the apology out of your throat.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then her voice came through.

Soft. Breathless. Almost trembling with heat.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I ran my tongue across my teeth, stared at her for a second longer, then exhaled through my nose. “Come here, kitten,” I said, low and commanding. “Let me clean you up. Then we leave.”

To be f*****g continued.

Favorite Sin 97

~Lyra~

Alright, let’s get something straight because I know some of y’all are out there absolutely foaming at the mouth, ready to drag me by my hair through the comments like, “Lyra, what the actual f**k is wrong with you?

And you know what? That’s fair.

Because yes. Yes, I did it.

I told Damon–while his c**k was still buried inside me, while my legs were trembling and my p***y was still spasming from the kind of orgasm that rewires your brainstem–I told that man, let’s go check on Camilla.

I know. I deserve jail. Maybe a slap. Maybe a whole trial by fire. But before you light your pitchforks and

scream betrayal, let me explain.

First of all, I hate Camilla. Not a little. Not in a “she’s annoying” kind of way. I hate her like my soul recognizes

her as its personal enemy.

She’s fake. She’s evil. She’s every terrible female villain trope combined and shoved into a painfully skinny body with a designer bag and zero morals.

So do I want her dead?

Yeno.

That’s my new word for the situation. A hybrid. Yes and no. Yeno. Because deep in the lowest, darkest, filthiest part of me? Yes. I want her to vanish. To crumble. To feel every ounce of humiliation she’s ever thrown at me. But another part of me–the smaller part, the human part, the annoyingly soft part–didn’t want

her to die. Not like that. Not yet.

And that’s why I said it.

That’s why I looked up at my mate, my Alpha, the man who had just filled me with enough c*m to breed an entire generation, and said, “Let’s go see if she’s okay.”

Now fast forward, we’re in the car. And Damon hasn’t spoken a single word.

Not one.

He’s not yelling. He’s not grunting. He’s not breathing loudly. He’s just driving–calmly, silently, with his jaw locked so tight it looks like it might snap.

His hands are gripping the steering wheel like it personally offended him. His knuckles are pale, his veins are raised, and there’s a line between his brows that could cut glass.

And me? I’m sitting there like a damn i***t with his c*m still dripping out of me, my thighs sticking together, and the echo of his last thrust still pulsing in my core.

The car still smells like s*x. The windows are fogged at the edges. I can feel the slick mess between my legs every time I shift. My body is sore in all the best ways. And the tension between us? It’s a live wire pressed against my throat.

Don’t Talk To Me Kitten

I glanced at him. I knew that look. That qület rage. That internal fury, it wasn’t about Camilla, it want

about the Interruption.

It was about me choosing that moment–the moment where he had been completely inside me, claiming me owning every inch of my body–and tearing it away.

I shifted again, pressing my thighs together and swallowing the whimper that threatened to slip out

His jaw flexed.

His hand twitched on the wheel.

“Damon,” I said softly, my voice low, careful, trying to reach him through the anger behind his eyes.

He didn’t look at me. Didn’t even flicker.

“Not now, kitten.”

His voice was sharp. Cold. The kind of cold that burns. It wasn’t raised, but it was heavy. It carried weight.

Authority. Punishment. And something in me tightened.

I nodded. Quietly. But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I never could. I was a mess. I spoke without thinking,

and I felt everything all at once.

“I didn’t mean to ruin it,” I whispered, my voice trembling slightly. “I just thought… what if she really do it?

You’ll hate yourself for life.

He didn’t respond.

“I know she’s manipulative. I know she’s cruel. I know she’d burn me alive if she could. But if she actually do it -if she kills herself–I don’t want you to blame yourself for not stopping it.”

Still nothing.

His eyes were locked on the road. His body unmoving. But I saw it. The way his throat moved when he swallowed. The way his grip on the steering wheel got even tighter.

“She’s not going to,” he said finally, his voice barely above a growl. “She’s a performer. She’s always been a performer.”

I bit my lip. I stared at my lap.

“You’re mad at me,” I said softly.

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then he slowly exhaled through his nose.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m calculating what I’m going to do to you when we get home. I’m deciding whether

cock.” to f**k the apology out of you slowly… or tear it from your throat while you’re choking on my

My breath hitched. My legs squeezed shut so fast I could feel the mess between them spread further. It was like every nerve in my body stood at attention, panting, desperate, waiting for more. And of course, because I’m me–eighteen, stupidly brave, and recklessly in love with my possessive, vengeful, Daddy Alpha mate–l

smiled.

Not a soft smile.

A dirty one.

The kind that said you wouldn’t dare–but I f*****g want you to.

<Don’t Talk To Me Kitten

I turned to face him fully, legs crossed in my seat, and dragged my gaze over his profile like I was tracing each edge of his fury.

He looked like a man on the verge of destruction. Of someone else’s destruction. Or mine. Or both. His lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones, his lips were pressed into a sharp line, and his scent–gods, his scent -was thick and angry and aroused all at once.

My voice came out a little breathless, a little amused, and way too bold for someone who was still wearing his c*m like perfume.

“So… choking then?” I said, pretending to look thoughtful, but really watching the vein in his neck pulse.

His jaw flexed so hard I swore I heard his teeth grind.

“I can take it,” I added, voice lower now, more sinful. “You know I can.”

His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel.

“And maybe after you’re done punishing my throat,” I went on, pretending to be innocent as I traced a finger up my thigh, “you can bend me over that table again and remind me why you never like being interrupted.”

I saw it.

The flicker.

That wild, dangerous glint that lit up in his eyes like someone just poured gasoline on already–burning rage.

He didn’t speak.

But he did reach down, unbuckle his seatbelt with one sharp movement, then ran his tongue slowly across his teeth like he was picturing the things he’d do to me the second we got back.

“Keep talking, kitten,” he said, voice a growl now. “Say one more thing that makes my c**k hard in this car, and I’ll make you ride it all the way back with the windows down, dripping, crying, and gagging for mercy I

won’t give.”

I blinked. I swallowed. I clenched again.

But I wasn’t done. Not yet.

“Oh no, Daddy,” I said softly, licking my bottom lip on purpose, making sure he saw it in the corner of his vision. “You said I’d pay for making you stop. I’m just trying to help you figure out how you wanna collect the

debt.”

He finally looked at me.

Turned his head with that slow, calculated control that made my skin break into shivers. His gaze dropped to my thighs–still clenched together, still slick, still trembling–then lifted back up to my face.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he said, voice like smoke and thunder. “I’m going to drag you back home, strip you `naked, tie you to the damn war table, and f**k the word ‘sorry‘ out of your body until it’s engraved in your

bones.”

My mouth fell open just a little. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. That voice. That promise. That fury. It cracked something in me. Melted something else. I could feel my pulse between my legs, feel the heat soaking through my ruined underwear, feel every inch of his possession crawling over my skin like chains I never wanted to escape.

Don’t Talk To Me Kitten

He looked at me like he knew. Like he could smell it.

And of course he could.

He leaned closer, one hand still on the wheel, the other shifting to his thigh, his voice dipping even lower.

“And if you so much as pout when I make you beg,” he whispered, “I’ll flip you over, spread your legs wider, and f**k you until the apology becomes a scream.”

I whimpered.

Actually whimpered. In the car. With the windows fogged and the scent of s*x thick in the air and my entire body coiled tight like a string ready to snap.

“I’m still leaking,” I whispered back, my voice all breath and sin. “You never gave me a chance to clean it.”

He stared.

“I can feel it, Damon. Your c*m. It’s still dripping down my thighs. It’s sticky. It’s hot. It’s messy. And I’m still

sitting in it. For you.”

The growl that ripped from his chest didn’t sound human.

“Say that again,” he snapped, gripping the wheel tighter. “Say it again and I’ll pull this car over right f*****g

now.”

I leaned over, bringing my lips to his ear, my voice soft and wicked.

“I’m still full of you,” I whispered. “Still warm inside from your c*m. Still aching. Still open. Still yours.”

He slammed his foot on the brakes.

The car jerked to a halt.

We were in the driveway now.

“Out.”

My heart jumped.

I didn’t argue. Didn’t blink. I just reached for the handle with fingers that still trembled from the heat between us. My legs ached as I stepped out of the car. The air hit my thighs, and I swore I could feel his c*m clinging to my skin, like it was defying gravity to stay in me.

Damon came around the car fast. Not rushed. Just controlled and furious. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. He grabbed my wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but tight enough to let me know this wasn’t over. And then we were walking–no, marching–toward the house like a storm was guiding us.

The moment the door opened and slammed behind us, I felt it–the shift in Damon. The Alpha. The wrath. The man who was done.

“Camilla!” he roared, his voice shaking the walls. “Where the f**k are you?!”

“I swear to every f*****g god I’ve ever disrespected,” Damon growled, stomping further into the hallway, “I am not playing your stupid–ass games”

He shoved the door to the living room open so hard it hit the wall.

“Camilla!”

<Don’t Talk To Me Kitten

I followed him slowly, my chest rising and falling, legs still a little unsteady. I was about to call out–tell him I think I saw her on the pouch but I didn’t get the chance.

Because the second I turned the corner-

Someone grabbed me from behind.

A thick piece of cloth looped fast around my neck and yanked back, cutting off my scream before it even reached my lips.

“f**k-!”

Favorite Sin 98

f**k.

I swear to every celestial body up there, I thought that was it.

The end.

The dramatic, gasping, slow–motion fall of Lyra, aged eighteen, freshly mated, still sore from getting ruined by the only man who’s ever made me forget my name–and about to be strangled to death on her own damn floor by a mascara–smeared banshee with abandonment issues.

Honestly? I thought I was going to die.

Not later. Not metaphorically. Not “oh my god, I’m dying” like when Damon’s tongue is inside me and my soul

is slipping out through my moans–I mean real death. No more orgasms. No more eye–rolls. No more “yes,

Daddy” whispered into darkened rooms. Just… gone. A cautionary tale told in hushed whispers around pack

fires.

She was hot. She was stubborn. She got choked out by a crazy ex.

That was almost me.

I swear I even started hearing that stupid, soft piano music they play in sad Omega films. I could feel my

body giving in. My lungs were already on fire. My throat felt like it was closing from the inside out.

My vision was closing in like the edges of the world were being erased. There was nothing but that cloth, my heartbeat pounding in my head like war drums, and her voice behind me screaming like a woman possessed.

“Die, you f*****g b***h!”

That’s what she said.

Like it was her battle cry. Like she was proud of it. Like choking me out on my own f*****g territory was going

to win her something. Newsflash, Camilla–it’s giving desperate, not deadly.

But I’ll give it to her, she had me for a second. My knees buckled. My body spasmed. My mouth was open,

gasping, gagging, but nothing came in. No air. No sound. Just panic. Just rage. Just that feeling of

helplessness slithering up my spine like venom.

But you know what else kicked in?

Instinct.

kind

Not the scared kind. The survival kind. The Omega fire they warned people about but no one really believed

existed. The kind that says not today, b***h. I might be young. I might be half–broken. But I was not going to die on the floor with c*m still leaking out of me and no damn closure.

So I fought.

Hard.

I let my body drop, fast and heavy, deadweight straight to the ground. My back hit her legs. She stumbled slightly but didn’t let go. I clawed at the cloth, dug my nails into whatever I could reach, and twisted my neck

Ruthless Possession

like I was trying to break out of a noose. The world kept spinning. My lungs screamed. But I kept going

My fingers found skin–hers–and I didn’t hesitate. I scratched. I tore into her with everything I had. I didn’t care if I was breaking nails or peeling flesh. I wanted her to feel me fighting.

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked behind me, the words spat through gritted teeth like venom.

I couldn’t answer. I was too busy surviving. Too busy elbowing her stomach and kicking at the floor and silently screaming every curse word I’ve ever heard in my life.

And just when I thought I couldn’t fight anymore.

Just when I felt my body start to slump-

Just when the darkness started blooming at the edge of my vision like black flowers-

I heard him.

Damon.

His voice wasn’t human. It was thunder. It was the sound of a thousand mountains cracking. It was the deep growl of an Alpha whose mate had been touched, whose mate had been hurt, whose mate was gasping for air while someone else dared to exist in the same room.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Three words.

That’s all it took.

Her hands didn’t even tighten. They froze. Her breath hitched. I could feel her body hesitate, the way her muscles trembled like she had just realized she f****d up.

And that was my chance.

I dropped even lower, slammed my elbow back with everything I had left–every ounce of rage, pain, terror, and primal hate–and nailed her in the stomach. Hard. I felt the wind leave her lungs. She made this sick, ugly little wheezing sound, and the cloth finally slipped.

Air rushed in.

I inhaled so hard it hurt. My chest expanded. My ribs screamed. My throat felt like it had been shredded with broken glass. My eyes watered instantly, tears spilling down my cheeks without permission. But I was breathing.

I was alive.

I collapsed–forward, coughing, clutching my neck, my vision swimming. I could taste blood. My pulse was hammering in my ears. My whole body trembled from the inside out.

But I looked up anyway.

My vision was still hazy. My throat was raw. My lungs were dragging in air like I had been drowning and just barely clawed back to the surface. Every breath hurt. Every inch of my body was shaking. I was on the floor- on my knees, my hands braced against the wood, my body coated in sweat and fear and leftover arousal.

And Damon-

Oh my f*****g God.

< Ruthless Possession

Damon wasn’t just moving.

He was unleashing.

The sound he made wasn’t human. It wasn’t even Alpha. It was dark.

His boots cracked against the floor as he crossed the room, every step carrying the kind of fury that made the air itself recoil. His hands were clenched into fists, his back broad and rippling with tension, and when his

eyes locked on Camilla, the world around him changed.

He moved like lightning–fast, brutal, unstoppable.

One second she was backing up, hands trembling, her mouth opening like she was going to say something.

And the next?

His hand was around her neck.

Not gently. Not with warning. Gripped. Possessive. Dominant. Wrathful.

He slammed her into the wall with a crack so loud I jumped. The plaster shattered behind her head. Her legs

left the ground. Her back arched. She gasped as his fingers tightened.

“Damon-” she croaked, barely able to get the word out, her nails digging into his wrist, trying to pull him off.

But he didn’t budge.

He was staring at her like she wasn’t even real. Like she was filth beneath his boot. His breathing was ragged. His pupils had expanded so wide that his eyes looked black. Not dark. Not angry. Black.

And then they changed.

Right in front of me.

The gold of his irises bled outward like ink in water, glowing with heat that wasn’t natural. His teeth–his canines–elongated. His voice when he spoke was layered, like something else was speaking through him. Something furious.

“You touched what’s mine,” he growled, every syllable vibrating through the room like a war drum. “You tried to kill my Luna in my own f*****g house.”

“I–I wasn’t going to kill her!” Camilla gasped, choking on her own words as she clawed at his wrist. “I just–l just wanted to scare her! I just wanted her to leave!”

“Liar,” he snapped, slamming her into the wall again. Harder. The back of her head hit with a thud, and a painting beside them clattered to the floor. “You put a cloth around her neck. You pulled. You watched her fall. That wasn’t fear. That was murder.”

Her eyes widened in panic. Her legs kicked. She struggled against the wall like a ragdoll in the hands of a god. Her mascara was running in thick, ugly trails. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“I–I loved you!” she choked. “I loved you, Damon! You were mine before she came! You were supposed to b

mine!”

His grip tightened.

The veins in his arms were bulging. His claws were slipping out–black, curved, lethal. His shoulders were shifting, bones cracking like something beneath his skin wanted out. His shirt strained at the seams as his

< Ruthless Possession

muscles flexed under the pressure of transformation.

“You were a contract,” he said, his voice low, guttural, and shaking with restraint. And I broke it the moment I scented her.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Camilla whimpered, eyes glassy now, panic bleeding into desperation.

“No,” Damon hissed, his lips curling back to reveal teeth that weren’t entirely human anymore. “I’m going to remind you. Of who the f**k I am.”

She whimpered.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I was still crouched on the floor, one hand on my throat, the other braced against the wall, my eyes locked on the storm of fury that was my mate.

Damon Thornvale. My Alpha. My monster. My mate.

He was transforming. Right in front of her. For me.

His spine cracked once, loud and sharp, the sound slicing through the air like a gunshot.

His shoulders widened, muscle stretching, thickening beneath his shirt as his body began the shift. Not all the way–no, not yet–but enough. Enough to show her what she triggered. Enough to show her what she

woke up inside him.

His claws lengthened fully now, black and curved, digging into the soft skin of her neck like they belonged there. Like they were carved to rip through her.

His fangs were out, gleaming, longer than they should’ve been. His chest rose and fell with every breath like it was trying to contain the creature inside him, and failing. His scent filled the room–dominant, dangerous, possessive. It made my knees weak. Made my heart pound. Made my cunt clench.

Camilla was whimpering now. Crying. Her tears were real this time, not staged, not strategic. They streaked down her cheeks in thick, messy trails, mixing with her ruined makeup as she tried to squirm, tried to escape, tried to undo what she’d done with the same manipulative voice she’d always used to get her way.

“Please,” she sobbed, her legs kicking weakly. “Please, Damon, don’t shift. Don’t–don’t kill me. I didn’t mean

to-”

“Shut the f**k up.”

He didn’t yell it.

He whispered it.

Low. Deadly. So quiet it made her flinch harder than any roar ever could.

“You didn’t mean to?” he snarled, leaning in close now, fangs bared, his forehead nearly touching hers as she trembled in his grasp.

“You didn’t mean to choke her? You didn’t mean to stand over her while she clawed at her own throat? You

didn’t mean to try and f*****g end her–in my home, while she was still carrying my c*m inside her?”

I felt my whole body jolt.

Camilla’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.

His eyes weren’t gold anymore. They weren’t even glowing.

Ruthless Possession

They were black. Bottomless. The kind of black that doesn’t reflect light. The kind that devours it.

He slammed her into the wall again. Her head bounced. A framed photo beside her crashed to the floor and shattered. Her legs dangled, twitching, her heels scraping helplessly against the paint behind her.

“You thought I wouldn’t scent it on her throat?” he growled. “You thought I wouldn’t know?”

“Please,” she choked, her face pale now, her tears soaking his hand, her voice splintering beneath the weight of his fury. “I didn’t know what I was doing, I–I just wanted you to look at me again-”

He let out a low, vicious laugh that didn’t sound human at all.

“I haven’t looked at you since the day I found my mate.”

“Damon,” I croaked from the floor. My voice came out hoarse, cracked, broken. “Please…”

#

Favorite Sin 99

~Lyra~

“Damon… please…”

I whispered it before I even meant to. My throat was still burning.

My knees were still on the floor. My pulse was still sprinting like it didn’t know if I was dying or just barely

surviving.

But I said his name.

Because I saw him.

I saw his body shaking, shoulders pulsing beneath his shirt like his skin was tearing from the inside.

His claws were still buried in Camilla’s neck, his lips curled back over his fangs, and his chest was rising in

hard, heaving waves like he couldn’t catch his breath. Like he wasn’t trying to breathe at all.

He was growling.

And honestly, I knew what happened to people who stood too close to an Alpha caught between forms. I

knew what happened when they lost control. When the beast inside them woke up and didn’t know the difference between prey and punishment.

“Damon… please,” I said again, louder now, dragging myself up from the floor, one trembling hand reaching

out toward him like I could touch him back into himself. “Let her go. You don’t need to do this. I’m right here.”

His head turned slightly.

Only slightly.

His eyes flicked to me. Just for a second. But in that second, I saw it.

The war.

The man I loved–my mate, my Alpha–he was still in there.

But something else was clawing through. Something older.

And then he spoke.

Or they did.

“No!”

The word came out in two voices.

One was his. Damon’s. Husky, furious, low like it scraped the bottom of his soul.

The other?

It was deeper. Louder. Hollow and ancient and echoing in a way that made my skin crawl and my blooc

to ice. It wasn’t just a growl. It was a presence. Something inside him had spoken.

Something other.

Camilla screamed.

< She Is Mine

I don’t know if it was from the sound or the pressure of his claws digging deeper, but it was real. Not manipulative. Not fake. Real. Raw. Terrified.

Damon’s hands shook.

43 PODIA

His chest was heaving faster now, every breath sounding like a fight to stay human. His jaw cracked. His neck popped. He was twitching like he was trying to control himself.

His claws curved sharper. His shoulders twitched. His veins bulged so hard it looked painful.

Camilla’s hands scrambled against his chest, smacking, begging, clawing like a desperate animal trying to escape a fire it started.

“I didn’t mean it!” she screamed, sobbing. “Damon, please! I was–I was scared–she was taking you from me!

“She is mine!” Damon snapped, both voices speaking at once now, layered and booming through the room.

She was given to me by the Moon herself. You are a f*****g contract. She is my mate. My Luna. My breath.”

He slammed her harder into the wall, and I swear to God the whole house shook.

“Damon,” I gasped, stumbling toward him, my voice cracking from the fire in my throat. “Look at me. Look at

me!”

He didn’t move.

Camilla’s legs twitched where they dangled. Her mouth was opening and closing. Her eyes were rolling.

“Damon!” I shouted louder, grabbing his arm now. “Let her go. I’m right here. It’s me. It’s Lyra. Your mate. Your

kitten. Your girl. You don’t need to do this. She’s not worth it. I’m right here.”

His whole body shuddered.

Then his head snapped toward me, eyes pitch black, canines bared.

I froze.

But I didn’t flinch.

“I’m not scared of you,” I whispered, voice trembling but honest. “Even like this. I’m not scared of you.

Because I know you.”

His claws twitched.

Then his fingers loosened.

Just enough.

Camilla dropped like a sack of bones to the floor, coughing, gasping, sobbing in broken, wet, ugly sounds that

didn’t move me at all. She curled into herself. Tried to speak. Failed.

But I didn’t look at her.

I only looked at him.

Damon was shaking. His breathing was ragged. His claws were still out. His fangs still gleamed. His muscles still pulsed with power. But he was looking at me.

Not through me.

She is Mine

At me.

“Come back,” I whispered. “Please, Damon. Come back to me.”

“Come back…”

I whispered it like a prayer, like his name was the only spell I had left in me. My voice still trembled, hoarse and torn from screaming, from choking, from pleading.

My throat felt like it had been wrapped in smoke and barbed wire, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care how broken I

sounded.

I didn’t care how small I was compared to the beast rising in front of me. Because I knew it was him.

Even with the claws and fangs and blackened eyes.

He was still mine.

And I needed him to remember that.

I stepped closer, swallowing the pain, the fear, the leftover terror still crawling across my skin like ice. My hand reached for him, slow and open, not to fight him–never to fight him–but to anchor him. To remind him.

He didn’t blink.

He just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, claws still wet, chest heaving like he couldn’t decide whether to breathe or roar. The gold in his eyes was gone. Just black now. Pure black.

But he was listening.

1 could feel it.

He hadn’t moved toward me. But he hadn’t moved away either. And that meant something.

“You’re still here,” I said softly, my voice shaking. “You’re still Damon. You’re still mine.”

He growled.

“I know you want to tear her apart,” I continued. “I know what she did. I know how close I was to dying. I know what it did to you. I felt it. But I don’t want her blood on your hands. Not for me.”

His jaw clenched.

His shoulders jerked once, like something inside him didn’t agree. Like the beast didn’t want to listen. Like it wanted vengeance. c*****e. Death.

But I kept talking.

I had to.

“You didn’t lose me,” I whispered. “You didn’t. I’m still breathing. I’m still here. I’m yours, Damon. I never

stopped being yours. And I don’t want the first thing you do after saving me to be something that haunts you.

”

His claws flexed.

I took another step.

My hand finally reached his chest. The moment my fingers touched him, he let out a sound–somewhere. between a gasp and a growl. His skin was burning hot beneath his shirt, his heart pounding wild and furious

She is Mine

against my palm.

I kept my hand there. Steady. Firm. Letting him feel me. Letting him know I was real.

“She doesn’t get to have this,” I said. “She doesn’t get to break you.”

His lips parted.

For a second, no words came out.

Just that rough, ragged breathing.

Then slowly–so slowly it felt like watching a glacier melt–his shoulders began to relax. His fingers curled in toward his palms. His claws retracted, not fully, but enough. His jaw eased. His chest rose and fell in a

different rhythm. Less deadly.

And then his eyes began to change.

It was subtle at first. A shimmer. A flicker of gold bleeding into the black like sunlight trying to pierce through ink. But it grew. Gradually. The gold returned. The beast receded. The man I loved–my Damon–was crawling

back to the surface.

I felt his hand close around my wrist.

Not hard. Not possessive.

Just enough to hold on.

His eyes finally locked on mine, and this time, they saw me.

“Lyra,” he rasped, his voice rough with strain. “She almost-”

“She didn’t,” I whispered, my eyes stinging. “Because you didn’t let her.”

He dropped to his knees.

Right there. In front of me.

His arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me into him, his head pressing against my stomach, his whole body shaking. Not from the shift anymore. From everything else. From the weight of almost losing. From the relief of.still having…

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, burying my fingers in his hair, holding him like he was the most fragile, furious thing in the world. His breath was warm against my belly. His grip was tight. And for the first time since I whispered his name-

He trembled.

“I thought she took you from me,” he said, his voice cracking. “I felt it, Lyra. I felt it.”

I knelt with him, dragging him down with me, pressing my lips to his temple, rocking with him on the floor like we were the only two people who existed.

“I’m always yours,” I whispered into his skin, my lips barely brushing the side of his face, and for the since this whole thing started, I felt him exhale.

st time

Not like he was calming down–but like he was finally breathing again. Like the beast inside him had stepped back, and the man I loved was holding me instead.

416

She Is Mine

His arms stayed around me. His face stayed buried against my stomach like he didn’t trust the world enough to lift his head yet. And I stayed there, stroking his hair, holding him together even as my own body was

trembling.

Until I heard her voice again.

A rasp. Wet. Weak. But still loud enough to ruin the air between us.

“So it’s true,” Camilla coughed from where she was crumpled on the floor like a broken doll.

Damon tensed.

I froze.

My heart lurched into my throat.

She coughed again, her voice cracking, her chest heaving as she tried to pull herself upright.

I turned my head and saw her–smeared makeup, trembling hands, blood on her neck where his claws had

scraped.

But her eyes… they were filled with something that wasn’t just pain. It was hatred. Not the loud, dramatic kind she’d used to fake it. This was deeper. Wilder. The kind that couldn’t be reasoned with.

“What Tasha told m about what she heard in school…what happened at school…” she rasped, eyes flicking

between us. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

Damon didn’t move.

I could feel his jaw tightening against my skin.

“You really did it,” she spat, louder now. “You really told an entire school filled with teenagers that she’s yours. That she belongs to you. That you’re claiming an eighteen–year–old like she’s some f*****g prize to wave in

front of your pack.”

I blinked.

My stomach dropped.

Camilla’s eyes snapped to mine, venom flooding her voice now.

“Who the f**k do you think you are Lyra!”

“Camilla-“I tried to speak, but my voice cracked again.

She cut me off.

“What the f**k is so special about her, Damon?!” she shouted, staggering to her feet, pointing at me with

shaking fingers.

“Why do you always protect her? Why do you defend her like she’s worth anything? Why did you tell the whole school she’s yours? She’s eighteen, Damon. You are like a father figure to her! You bastard! That’s child abuse. That’s sick. You’re a f*****g pedo!”

And then he looked at her.

Right at her.

“I am not a father to her,” he said, low and clear.

15/6

< She Is Mine

“You wanna know why she is so important”

“She is my mate.”

Camilla froze.

To be f*****g continued.

Favorite Sin 100

~Lyra~

Camilla laughed.

Not a small laugh. Not a nervous chuckle. I’m talking about a full–blown, head–thrown–back, mouth wide open, mascara–smearing, unhinged kind of laugh.

That ugly, cackling, teeth–baring sound that makes you instantly uncomfortable just listening to it. She was clutching her side like she’d just heard the best joke of her life, like someone had handed her a script for a comedy special and said, “Here, this one’s about you losing your damn mind in real time.”

I didn’t move.

Damon didn’t move.

But she just kept laughing, louder now, staggering slightly as she clutched the edge of a chair to keep herself upright. Her body was shaking, her chest heaving, her eyeliner now smudged so far down her cheeks she looked like a sad clown that had wandered into a horror movie set.

“Are you serious?” she wheezed between gasps, swiping at her face with the back of her hand. “No–like, actually. Is this a joke? A prank? Some kind of sick–ass game you are playing on me?”

She pointed between us, still laughing, still losing it, her voice rising with every word like she was spiraling into hysteria and had no intention of slowing down.

“Oh gosh–y’all are so funny,” she sneered, eyes glistening with tears that weren’t sad at all. “Really. This? This whole twisted little show you’ve been putting on? It’s hilarious.”

I stared at her, completely still, while my heart thudded against my ribs like it wanted to launch itself out of my chest and slap her across the face.

She was laughing like she hadn’t just tried to kill me.

She was laughing like this entire thing wasn’t dead serious.

And that did something to me.

Something ugly.

But she wasn’t done.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, wiping her eyes and stumbling a step forward, wobbling in her heels like a drunk girl at prom. “You’re really standing here, saying that she–this little girl–is your mate?”

“Are you f*****g serious right now?!”

She staggered forward, her heels clacking against the floor like the sound alone could make us take her seriously.

“Is it because I don’t belong to this f*****g wolf thing?” she screamed, her voice cracking in the ug Is that it?! Is it because I’m not one of you? Because I don’t shift? Because I’m human huh? Answer me Damon!”

vay. “

Damon didn’t move. Not even a blink. But I felt his hand on my hip tighten–just slightly. Enough to let me

Wild Heart Mate

know he was keeping himself still. For me.

Camilla wasn’t done. Not even close.

“So what, you just decided you needed someone more like you?” she barked, her voice rising higher, laced

with venom.

“You wanted a like–person–wolf–thing to match your own freak–show genes? Is that it? So you picked your daughter’s age mate?! Are you f*****g insane?! You chose a child, Damon!”

She stepped closer.

“You must be sick, Damon!” she shrieked. “f*****g sick! You want to talk about the Moon Goddess and fated

mates and all that werewolf destiny bullshit? Fine. Say whatever you want. But that girl’s eighteen! And you’re

like old enough to birth her!

Her voice broke. For the first time, her hands were shaking for real.

“She’s just a kid!”

Her eyes found mine again, and I saw the shift. From rage to disgust. From heartbreak to hatred.

“And don’t you f*****g dare tell me you’ve been f*****g her,” she hissed, her voice dropping into something deadly. “Don’t you dare look me in the face and tell me you’ve been inside her.

I didn’t breathe.

Damon didn’t flinch.

And for one full second, the entire room went silent. Then.

Yes.

That one word. That one syllable. That filthy, delicious, scorching admission that left Damon’s mouth like a loaded weapon and detonated in the center of the room-

“Yes. I’ve been f*****g her.”

I swear the air changed.

It didn’t just shift. It snapped. Like the molecules around us heard him and combusted with lust and horror all

at once. Camilla stopped breathing. Her mouth fell open like someone had just slapped her across the face with a brick of truth she wasn’t prepared to carry. And me?

My entire body reacted.

I felt it everywhere. The heat. The ache. The throb that started between my legs and spread like wildfire. My heart was pounding so fast I could barely stay upright. My breath hitched. My spine arched slightly without my permission. And my thighs–gods, my thighs squeezed together as if I could hide the way my p***y just clenched around nothing like it was already missing him.

I shouldn’t have gotten wet from that.

I shouldn’t have liked it.

But I did.

I liked the way he said it.

215

Wild Heart Mate

So calm.

So sure.

So f*****g dirty.

And then he kept going.

“She’s not just my mate,” Damon said, his voice dropping into that place that always made me weak. “She’s my obsession. My addiction. My sweet little Omega that I ruin every single night.”

Oh f**k.

I swallowed hard, and it felt like my whole throat tightened around a moan I wasn’t ready to let out. My eyes widened. My cheeks burned. My n*****s hardened against my bra like they’d been called to attention by the pure, raw filth coming out of his mouth.

He said it like he was proud. Like claiming me in front of the woman who used to sleep in his bed was just

another form of foreplay.

“I’ve had her whimpering under me,” he continued, and my breath stuttered because i remembered. I remembered the way his hands pinned me down. The way his voice dipped right before he slammed into me. The way he groaned against my neck while I begged him to keep going.

“Soaked and spread. Begging for more. I’ve had her mouth on my c**k, her hands on my chest, her thighs trembling while I f**k her so hard she forgets her name.”

Oh my f*****g god.

I could feel it now. Not just mentally. Not just emotionally. Physically. The way my panties clung to me. The way the heat curled low in my belly and settled between my thighs like a secret. The way I started to breathe through my mouth because everything inside me was unraveling one word at a time.

And he wasn’t done.

“She’s not some girl picked,” Damon growled, his grip on my waist tightening, his voice sending shivers down my spine. “She was made for me. Every inch of her. Every sound she makes. Every drop of slick that drips out of her while I’m still inside. She was built to take me. To belong to me.”

Camilla made a choking sound, but I wasn’t even looking at her anymore.

I was staring up at him.

Dazed.

Buzzing.

Completely wrecked by the fact that he was saying all of this with his arm around me, his scent on my skin, his voice claiming me so brutally that it made my entire body throb like I’d just been thrown back into his bed

and told to stay.

And then came the final blow.

“I don’t just f**k her,” Damon said, eyes gleaming, his voice coiling around the words like he loved every

syllable. “I breed her. Knot her, Mark her. Fill her so deep she leaks for hours. And when I’m done? I start all over again.”

My knees actually gave out.

Wild Heart Mate

I’m not even joking.

If he hadn’t been holding me, I would’ve melted into the floor. I would’ve slipped in my own damn slick and

collapsed right there in front of Camilla. My pulse was pounding between my legs. My chest was heaving. My brain had completely shut down.

I was ruined.

Just from his words.

Just from the truth.

“She’s mine,” he finished, staring straight through Camilla like she was invisible. “And she loves every f*****g second of it.”

Oh. My. f*****g. God.

You’d think I’d be used to him by now. To his voice. To the things he says. To the way he can ruin me with a single sentence. But I wasn’t. Not even close. Every time Damon opened his mouth, it was like my brain turned into melted wax and my body forgot how to function. And this time–this time he wasn’t just talking.

He was declaring war.

On her.

On every ounce of control I thought I had left.

On the air in my lungs.

“She moans like a f*****g angel,” he went on, his hand sliding down from my waist, fingers pressing right into the curve of my hip like he was remembering exactly how he holds me when I’m writhing beneath him. “She cries when she comes. Not because she’s in pain–but because it’s too good. Because I f**k her until she breaks.”

I gasped.

Not out loud.

Not dramatically.

Just a tiny little inhale that hitched in my throat like I was choking on my own arousal. I felt hot all over. Too hot. Like my skin didn’t fit right. Like his words were peeling every layer of me off until I was raw and needy and shameless.

“I don’t use her,” Damon continued, his voice darker now, a cruel kind of pride curling around every word like smoke. “I worship her. With my mouth. My tongue. My c**k. Every part of me knows her. Every inch of her body is trained to respond to me.”

He leaned down slightly, his mouth brushing against my temple, and I swear my whole damn body throbbed from just that.

“She screams when I knot her,” he whispered, like it was a f*****g lullaby, “and then she begs for more. She says ‘please, Daddy, don’t stop. And I don’t. I never stop. Not until I’ve emptied myself so deep de her she’s dripping with me for hours.”

Camilla made a sound.

A strangled, furious, broken little thing that would’ve been pathetic if I hadn’t been so busy trying not to

< Wild Heart Mate

f*****g c*m just from listening to him talk.

FORTE 2

“You know what the best part is?” Damon asked, still not even looking at her. He was staring at me now. His eyes locked on mine like he wanted to undress me with his gaze and bend me over something right f*****g now. “It’s not just her body. It’s her mind. The way she thinks. The way she rambles. The way she trembles

when she wants me and tries to talk herself out of it.”

Oh f**k.

Oh f**k.

“She’s 18,” he growled, pressing his fingers into my hip a little harder, “and she talks so f*****g much. But when I f**k her? She can’t speak. She forgets how. Her voice breaks. Her thoughts scatter. All that smart

mouth turns into breathy little whimpers and she just–melts.”

My nails dug into his chest. I couldn’t even stop it.

He smiled.

Smiled.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“She’s mine,” he repeated, dragging the words out now, slow and lethal and dripping with filth. “She’s my Luna. My kitten. My c*m–hungry little mate. And no one–no one–will ever touch her again. Not in this lifetime. Not in any f*****g universe.”

Camilla looked like she was going to throw up.

But I-

I was soaked.

Trembling.

Addicted.

Absolutely f*****g gone.

And Damon?

He hadn’t even gotten started yet.