Chapter 167: Chapter 167
Lyra
Do you know what it feels like to walk into a room full of the most powerful, ancient, snarling, superiority-complex-having Alphas in the fucking country with dried cum on your inner thighs, a limp in your step, and your heart still echoing the last ti he called you kitten? I’ll tell you. It feels like stepping into a holy place while still reeking of sin.
Like crashing a funeral covered in glitter and orgasms. Like flipping off a room full of priests while wearing nothing but lace. And the worst part? Or maybe the best, depending on how ssed up you are inside? I loved it.
I was high. Not on drugs, not on alcohol—on power. On heat. On sex. On Damon.
The council room was colder than I expected. Maybe because the windows were shut, or maybe because they all looked like they’d rather die than have an Oga in their presence unless she was serving tea or getting fucked to make heirs.
And yet there I was, walking in like the floor belonged to .
Twelve chairs. Twelve n. Twelve beady-eyed, salt-bearded, cigar-breath patriarchs who stared at
like I was the second coming of the apocalypse.
If they had pearls, they would’ve clutched them. If they had guns, I swear three of them would’ve shot
on sight.
But I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t even shy. I was still swollen, still open, still tingling with the mory of how Damon had bent , owned , ruined .
And then ca the sound. His boots. That slow, dragging, dominant gait that made the floor seem too fragile beneath him.
Damon entered like thunder. And yes, I know that’s cliché, but shut up and listen—this man was thunder. Not taphorical. Real. He made the lights flicker.
He made their wolves whimper. He made
clench so hard I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning again like a bitch in heat.
He didn’t speak. Not yet. He just walked to the head of the room like he already owned it, pulled out a chair for
like we were at so fucked-up royal ball instead of a war council eting, and said those two perfect words that made
want to slide under the table and suck him off in front of all of them.
"Sit, kitten."
Do you know what happens to your spine when the scariest, sexiest, most bloodstained Alpha in existence tells you to sit in front of twelve n who think won should stay silent unless they’re birthing or baking? Your spine fucking straightens. Your heart beats so hard it knocks your ribs. Your pussy—God, my pussy—it throbs like a goddamn trono.
I sat. Slowly. Making sure they all saw the way I moved like I was still recovering from being bred against a hallway locker. I didn’t cross my legs. I didn’t hide my scent. I didn’t even look away when one—grimaced like the sll of my Alpha’s claim was burning his nose hair.
"Alpha Damon, what’s the aning of this? Who is this young girl you brought to the eting? What’s going on here?"
That was the first thing out of their crusty mouths. Not good morning. Not hello. Not even a nice to et you. No. The second I stepped into that cold-ass Alpha Council chamber, still walking funny from getting my soul rearranged, all they could do was glare and bark and question like I was so toddler who wandered in looking for her lunchbox.
I should’ve known. Should’ve known the second Damon said we were coming here that I was about to be disrespected, side-eyed, and treated like a joke by a bunch of wrinkled power-drunk pricks who still thought won were accessories. But what I wasn’t ready for—what really made my blood boil—was what ca after.
Damon didn’t hesitate. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.
He just looked them straight in the eye, voice low and firm and final, and said—
"I brought my Luna."
Yup. Just like that. Like it was a fact. Like it was a weather report. Like we weren’t standing in a room where every man in a fifty-mile radius believed Ogas were only good for three things—mating, milking, and being mute.
And then—God, I wish I could make this part up—so of them actually laughed.
Laughed.
Like it was a cody special.
Like I was the punchline.
One of them—the baldest one, with this veiny neck and a voice like dry gravel—shook his head and actually said it. Loud. Disrespectful. Like I wasn’t even standing there.
"You must be a clown, Alpha Damon."
I blinked.
He went on.
"Are you blind? This girl looks like she’s still playing with sand. She’s a child. This is the Luna you claim? Is this a joke to you?"
And I swear, sothing in
snapped. Not quietly. Not sweetly. Not like a twig in a forest. No. It snapped like a rib cage being crushed under a feral shift. Like dignity being ripped from your throat and spat on by n who thought they owned the air.
Because how dare they?
How fucking dare they look at —, the sa girl who had Damon Thornvale’s cum dripping out of her not even twenty minutes ago—and call
a child? A joke? A Luna-in-training who should still be building sandcastles?
I could’ve scread. I wanted to claw his eyeballs out and feed them to his wolf.
But Damon... oh, Damon didn’t laugh. Damon didn’t blink. Damon didn’t make a single sound. He just slowly turned his head, stared at the man like he was already dead, and said—
"Do you want to be the next body on the floor?"
Reviews
All reviews (0)