The Dread of Damned-Chapter 165: Lesson

I dragged her into the washroom as she growled, though she didn’t resist too much—perhaps finally understanding the point I had been trying to make. And it wasn’t a stretch to assume she did. George, or any other vampire, would have lunged at the chance to get their hands on a werewolf, especially a royal one.

History told of werewolves, weary of their powerlessness against nocturnals, turning to the worship of dark entities in their craving for corrupted power. They were already stronger than humans, their bodies capable of channeling and wielding that power far more effectively—making them even more dangerous than the average damned.

Even now, there were entire factions of the damned composed solely of werewolves. And when the news spread, the Five Houses united for the first time in ages, hunting them down indiscriminately—those who worshipped the entity and those who didn’t. All were slaughtered.

The Forest of Nights had always been Aestherisin territory, and since my grandfather’s time—even before—there had been a tentative treaty with the wolves who dwelled within. But when the purge came, my grandfather led the charge, and the entire forest was cleansed.

There were packs who had refused the corruption, who begged for mercy—but history sanitized that part.

I threw her into the luxurious tub, water sloshing as she landed with a thud, instinctively catching herself on all fours like a cat. She growled, baring her teeth, thinking she looked dangerous.

Cute.

Her breasts were half-submerged as I stepped forward, gripping her head and shoving it underwater before releasing her just as quickly. My hands moved to her trousers, tearing them away with a sharp rip and tossing them aside.

She thrashed beneath the surface, but my grip was iron. Unfazed, I finally let her go and stepped back, slowly stripping off my clothes.

Her growls deepened as her eyes trailed over my body—until my pants dropped and my throbbing cock came into view. She flinched back.

I moved forward again, pressing a hand against her head to push her aside as I stepped into the tub and settled at the edge.

Her teeth elongated, a feral snarl ripping from her throat.

I grabbed her hair, dragging her closer despite her resistance. She pulled back, but I didn’t yield. When her face leveled with my chest and her breasts brushed against my cock, my grip turned brutal. I wrenched her head back, exposing the slender column of her throat, the blue veins stark beneath her skin. The rush of blood beneath the surface was intoxicating—I ached to sink my fangs in.

Now I understood why even the innocent werewolves hadn’t been spared.

What history erased was this: an entire pack had surrendered, refusing the entity’s corruption. They were slaughtered anyway.

Because once nocturnals tasted werewolf blood, they became more than just another species.

They were prey.

Like cattle to humans, like the finest wine—they were a delicacy. A feast. And so the vampires gorged themselves, a slaughter that lasted for days and nights until the forests ran red.

I refocused on her, my cock resting between her breasts as I met her stark yellow eyes.

"I like wild dogs," I murmured, smiling. "You know why?"

She stared, muscles coiled, her blood roaring with the instinct to fight—even though she knew she was outmatched.

"Because they’re so much fun to break."

Amusement laced my voice. She tensed, trying to jerk away, but I fisted her hair and forced her head back further, prying her jaws open. My fingers closed around her fangs.

"I once read a very effective method for taming wild beasts," I continued, as if we were having a pleasant conversation—as if my cock wasn’t grinding against her, as if my grip wasn’t tight enough to tear her teeth out.

"You remove their fangs. Their claws. Render them harmless. Teach them the consequences of defiance."

I tugged sharply.

She thrashed wildly, pure instinct taking over—the desperation of an animal who had spent her entire life in the forest, fighting to survive.

Her thrashing sent water sloshing over the edges of the tub, her claws digging into my thighs hard enough to draw blood—not that it mattered. The sting was nothing compared to the way her defiance only sharpened my hunger.

I tightened my grip on her teeth, feeling the sharp points press into my fingers as she snarled, her body twisting like a trapped beast. But there was no escape. Not here. Not from me.

"You’re making this harder than it needs to be," I murmured, almost conversational, as if we weren’t locked in this violent intimacy. My other hand slid down, fingers wrapping around her throat just enough to remind her of the fragility of her position. Her pulse hammered against my palm, a frantic rhythm that betrayed her fury—and her fear.

Then, with a sharp, deliberate twist, I wrenched one of her fangs free.

A choked, guttural sound tore from her throat, half-growl, half-whimper. Blood welled up in her mouth, dripping down her chin in thick, dark rivulets staining her throat to her chest and my dick before dissolving into the water, blooming like ink. Her body went rigid, shock momentarily overriding her instincts.

I held the tooth up between us, examining it with detached fascination. "See? Not so bad."

Her breath came in ragged bursts, her eyes burning with a hatred so raw it was almost beautiful. But beneath that, something else flickered—understanding. The realization that this wasn’t just punishment. It was a lesson. One she wouldn’t forget.

I dropped the tooth into the water with a soft plink, then reached for the next.

Her snarl returned, weaker this time but no less fierce. She tried to jerk her head away, but my grip was unrelenting.

"Shhh," I soothed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You’ll thank me later."

And then I pulled again.

The tooth came free with a wet snap, her blood welling up in her mouth, spilling over her lips in a dark, glistening stream. She choked, gagging on the mercury thickness, but I didn’t let her turn away. Instead, I crushed my mouth against hers in a sloppy, grotesque parody of a kiss.

Her blood flooded between us, sweet and addicting, smearing across my lips, dripping down her chin. She whimpered, her body trembling, but I only deepened the kiss, forcing her to swallow what she couldn’t spit out.

My tongue slid against hers, tasting sugar, tasting my new addiction, the sharp edges of her remaining teeth grazing my lips.

When I finally pulled back, a thick strand of crimson stretched between us before breaking, splattering against her chest. She gasped, her breath ragged, her yellow eyes wide with disgust and helpless fury.

I dragged the freshly pulled tooth over her throat, leaving a faint red trail in its wake.

"See what happens if you hurt me with this?" I murmured, thumbing away a streak of blood from her lower lip. "Good doggies don’t hurt their masters."

Tears welled in her sulfurous eyes, her defiance flickering like a dying ember. By the third tooth, her sharp fangs had receded, leaving only blunt, human teeth behind.

"Pity," I said, releasing her hair with a rough shove. "I really wanted to see what a toothless blowjob would feel like."

Her glare burned, but she didn’t lift her head.

I smirked, tilting her chin up with a blood-smeared finger. "Keep that up, and I’ll find out soon enough."

Her lips parted—whether to snarl or beg, I couldn’t tell—but no sound came out. Only a slow trickle of red, dripping silently onto the pinkish water between us.