TO TAME THE BRUTAL LYCAN BEAST-Chapter 42: FUCKING BLUE-GREEN EYES

AZRAEL

I will have her bent over every surface—the dresser, the wall—driving into her from behind so deep she’ll feel it in her throat.

I want to hear and bottle every sound she’ll make once I am inside her. I want to see my own handprint on her throat.

I won’t stop until her nails are scratching bloody furrows down my back. Until her voice is hoarse from screaming. Until she is coming so hard around my cock that all she can do is sob my name.

And even then, I won’t be done.

I’ll flip her onto her back, hook her legs over my arms, and start all over again. I’ll watch her fall apart under me for hours. For days. Until neither of us can remember any name but the other’s.

Fucking hell, Azrael.

My lips and chin are glistening with her. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes locked on her wrecked, tear-streaked face.

I tilt my head, a wicked grin touching my lips. "You’re my masterpiece. My perfect, ruined muse."

And she is.

I am already memorizing the composition—the careless spill of her hair, the hypnotic, dazed pools of her eyes, the soft rhythm of her breath.

Every part of me aches to capture it with a brush, to trap this perfection on canvas.

But a more primal need takes hold.

I shift my weight, and the swollen, aching head of my cock finds her. I don’t penetrate, not yet. I just tease. A slow, grinding pressure against her tender, dripping core.

A low groan is torn from me, the sensation so intense it is agony. I am poised at her entrance, drowning in the soulful colors of her eyes.

For a second, they exist without any resentment. Any hate. Any anger directed at me.

Then I push. Just a fraction. An inch of brutal need. A taste to satiate my hunger for the forbidden. For this strange woman.

And then comes the flash of fear in her eyes.

"I want to stop..." she whimpers, biting her lip and avoiding my gaze again.

"You’re not seriously expecting me to believe that. You came here on your own, begging me to fuck you. I’m only giving you what you wanted. You want to be a slut for your goddess. Crying now only makes you look pathetic," I drop my lips to her nipples once more, biting slightly with a soft tug.

She gasps, a soft moan slipping out.

Her mouth says no, but her body clearly wants me. It reacts to every touch and stroke; every prod makes her shiver with need and desire.

She’s just like the rest of them—pretending innocence, pretending they don’t want their needs satiated—until they’re beneath me, screaming and begging for more.

"Please..." she repeats again, her voice cracking.

One peek at her red face reveals concealed tears sliding down her cheeks.

I freeze. Is she that terrified of me? My enjoyment comes to a crashing halt and my gut twists painfully as if I’m being gutted.

In place of lustful desire and need is anger and bitterness choking me, and an immense wave of unsatisfaction.

I chuckle with an aching dryness, then let her go instantly, climbing off her small frame. The look of relief on her face the second I’m no longer on top of her doesn’t make me feel any better.

If anything, I want to punch a hole through the wall.

"You look at me and act like I’m the monster while worshipping someone wicked enough to send you here. She knows what I’ve done to others before you... and what I’m eventually going to do to you," I spit, every drop of venom bubbling in my gut.

I want to cut her with words, hoping that in some way she’ll hurt more than I do right now.

I want her to revel in agony so I don’t suffer alone—so it can hurt less being rejected by her.

"I’m not the one whoring you out."

"Because you are a monster," she responds, holding back her tears poorly. "All those innocent people are dead because of you—all to entertain yourself. If not me, a thousand more will die."

"Innocent people?" My head falls back and I laugh, surprised I can even find humor in a moment this agonizing. She’s an even worse fool than I realized.

"Not one of them were innocent. Ivana, the one you cry for like she was your precious sister, tried to kill you—even after your foolish attempt at saving her life. You got lucky, unlike the two other girls before you who weren’t so lucky. In your case we caught her in the act; for the others there was never any evidence because she always had someone blackmailed to do her bidding. And she’s the least fiendish among the lot I’ve enjoyed murdering,"

"You’re lying... anything to justify your actions!" she flips out, screaming like a banshee.

"Do I look like I need justification to kill filth like your kind?!" I lose my shit, raising my voice to be louder, more terrifying. "I could kill you right now. One snap of my fingers and I’d turn you to dust. Do you think I’d need to justify my reasons to anyone? Do you think anyone would defy me if I decided to end your puny, inconsequential life?!"

My outburst leaves her stunned, silent, speechless as we both catch our breaths. Neither of us expected that—certainly not me, especially not after the primal, lustful moment we had just shared.

I don’t lose my shit often, and I don’t fucking need to explain myself to anyone, much less a bloody wolf.

But I’m compelled by the way those eyes look at me—blue-green again. There’s something about them that feels familiar and yet foreign: fucking blue-green eyes.

I take a deep breath.

"The people always need someone to blame so they can reveal their most twisted desires. I am that evil born from their greed—the excuse to unleash it so they may say the king is mad, that he did this. His evil is a sickness, a plague that inspires others," my voice softens yet remains stern, breaking things down—information too impossible to digest, but I go on.

"I only exist because I’m necessary to your kind: a tool to summon the destruction your people truly desire. Your people do not want peace or freedom from oppression. They only desire power to inflict more pain on those below them. Alpha. Omega. Beta. Commoner. Every wickedness done under my name was never truly endorsed by me. It was always their heart’s desire—they wanted to be evil; they wanted to be wicked; they wanted the power to torment others. It’s always been your fault. And you’re only this way because of what you were created to be: flawed and never satiated, so the gods themselves may be seen as perfect and worshipped."

"I have never done anything evil that wasn’t deserved. Exaggerated and unnecessarily cruel in your perspective, maybe—but they all deserved it, Valoria. And I’d do it all over again, in more gruesome ways."