Kaya
I swallow hard, my fingers gripping the letter opener so tightly that pain lances through my hand. Storm advances slowly, deliberately, savoring the fear radiating off me. His fangs lengthen with every breath, his shifting eyes gleaming as his wolf fights to break free.
I can feel it—if he could shift right now, he would tear me apart, devouring me whole until there was nothing left.
Then, it happens.
With a guttural growl, Storm lunges forward. His long fingers clamp around my throat, squeezing with a force that sends a sharp jolt of terror through my body. His grin is vile, predatory, and in that moment, I feel utterly insignificant beneath his looming presence.
"Drop that," he commands, his voice filled with menace.
A tremor runs down my arm as my grip weakens, my fingers loosening against my will. The letter opener slips from my grasp, clattering uselessly to the floor.
"What a good little slut you are," Storm sneers.
Then, with terrifying ease, he shoves me backward onto the desk. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, but before I can recover, his grip tightens around my throat, leaving only the barest space for me to gasp in short, ragged breaths.
I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing my own weakness. If only I were faster, sharper, stronger like others. But I was never given the chance to learn how to fight, how to defend myself. And now, without Damien here to protect me, I am nothing.
So lost in my self-loathing, I don't even notice at first—my skirt has been pushed up, bunched around my waist, leaving my legs exposed to the cold air.
A jolt of panic crashes over me. I flinch, trying to recoil, but Storm only presses down harder, his grip unrelenting. The pressure is suffocating, stealing the last remnants of my breath.
His fingers move with a sickening slowness, cold and clammy against my skin. They slither like snakes, leaving a trail of venom in their wake, poisoning every inch they touch.
Being trapped by a man against my will is not a new feeling, but that doesn't mean I'm used to it. My body screams at me to fight, to resist, so I gather what little strength I have left and try once more to push him off.
The effort is futile.
Storm's palm collides with my face in a brutal slap, the force so violent that my head snaps sideways, slamming against the desk. A sharp, deafening ring erupts inside my skull, drowning out every other sound.
"Don't make this harder than it has to be, bitch," he snarls, his shifting eyes glinting with savage hunger. "You won't get hurt again if you just give up."
And so I do.
I give up. Again.
Because I'm weak. Because I always have been.
Storm watches my submission with satisfaction, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His right hand remains locked around my throat while his left tears at my panties, the fabric shredding like paper beneath his strength.
Tears burn hot behind my closed eyelids, a bitter punishment for what I am allowing him to do.
His hand trails upward, closing around my breast in a cruel grip. He squeezes hard. So hard I want to scream, but the pressure on my throat strangles any sound before it can escape. His fingers pinch my nipple, twisting and tugging with vicious intent, and for one sickening moment, I fear he might tear it clean off.
A scoff rumbles from his chest. He enjoys this. The fucking sadist.
Then, his tongue flicks over my nipple, and I recoil, shuddering at the wet heat against my skin. His other hand snakes lower, roughly palming my backside before sliding between my legs.
Just as his cold fingers press against me, a sudden, thunderous noise splits the air like an explosion.
Storm jerks back with a sharp groan, followed by a stream of furious curses.
"You bitch!" he roars.
My eyes snap open, shock jolting through me.
Shelly. Awake. Disheveled. Standing in front of the desk, gripping the broken back of a chair with both hands, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.
And then I see it.
She did what I couldn't.
She grabbed the chair and struck Storm with it.
To help me.
She helped me.
And now, she's going to regret it.
"You stupid sluts," Storm snarls, shoving away from me. He towers over Shelly like an unstoppable force, his massive frame casting her in shadow. "I'm fucking tired of this bullshit," he hisses, his beast rippling beneath his skin.
Shelly flinches, instinctively shrinking back.
"I don't care anymore. Now, I'm just fucking pissed!"
His final words erupt in a roar, filling the air with a suffocating, oppressive weight. The entire room darkens with the intensity of his rage. He kicks his discarded pants aside, seizing a jagged leg of the broken chair. With a violent swing, he hoists it over his shoulder.
Shelly has no time to react.
The impact lands with a sickening crack. She collapses to the floor, a sharp, agonized scream tearing from her throat. Her trembling hand flies to her shoulder, where the wood struck her, fingers curling over the fresh wound.
Shock paralyzes me. My mind struggles to catch up to reality.
And then it happens.
Storm—wild, unhinged, merciless—raises the wooden leg again and brings it down on her, over and over. Each brutal strike leaves angry red welts blooming across her skin. The sharp thwack of wood meeting flesh fills the air, mingling with her broken cries.
Something inside me snaps.
My scars burn, an unbearable itch spreading across my skin. I look down at my arms, my breath catching at the sight—silver light dusting my flesh like a veil of stardust.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears. I turn, drawn to a glow beyond the window.
The full moon.
It's here.
And that means only one thing.
Another scream wrenches me back to Shelly. She curls in on herself, desperately shielding her body, but Storm delivers a brutal strike to her back. She jerks upright, gasping in pain—leaving her chest exposed for the next blow.
Rage floods my veins, setting every nerve ablaze.
My scars shimmer, their glow intensifying.
A storm brews inside me—wild, potent, unstoppable.
I can't wait. I can't hold it back anymore.
So I do the only thing left.
I shift.