Auctioned to the Cruel King - Chapter 45: Chapter 45
You are reading Auctioned to the Cruel King, Chapter 45: Chapter 45. Read more chapters of Auctioned to the Cruel King.
Kayla’s POV
I screamed.
Not out of fear anymore, but something far more primal. Raw. A scream that ripped from the deepest, most savage part of me. One that didn’t beg for mercy. One that simply was pain and confusion and burning, relentless need.
Lance didn’t stop.
His massive body loomed above me, all beast and nightmare. And yet, it wasn’t the terror of him that held me there beneath him. It was the unbearable weight of the bond. The way it sang. The way it pulled.
Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves through my bones, through my lungs, as if I were being shattered and rebuilt at once. My nails clawed at the stone beneath me, scraping until they bled.
He snarled into my neck, his snout dragging across the tender skin there, tongue lashing against my collarbone, my throat, claiming, tasting, devouring. His breath was hot and labored, panting like a beast in heat, and the sound of his growls echoed against the stone walls, vibrating through my ribs.
My body… gods, my body responded. Traitorously. Desperately.
It shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t have wanted him. But the heat between my thighs only grew, slick and humiliating, as his massive hips slammed into me again and again.
“Please,” I gasped, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I—I can’t—”
His claws dug into the stone on either side of my head, as if holding back the urge to rip me open entirely. And yet, his thrusts only grew rougher, deeper, the sounds of our bodies—fur against flesh, soaked and obscene—and my screams, filled the chamber.
I was drowning. Too overwhelmed to plead anymore.
I screamed in agony as he ravaged me mercilessly. Mindlessly. His pace was inhuman, fast, and forceful, as if
it wanted to penetrate my very soul.
Still, my wolf rose for him, whimpering, rubbing up against the invisible tether that tied us. Not out of submission. Out of recognition. Of the chaos. Of the wild. Of him.
My small body felt completely consumed by him.
I could feel the hard scales against my skin. Limbs like tree trunks. Talons were as sharp as daggers. I feared they would cut into me, given how tightly he held me. More than that, I feared I would die.
“Please!!” I screamed, overwhelmed.
I'm going to die!
“L-Lance,” I sobbed, voice cracking. “Please… you’re hurting me…”
He stilled.
His snarl quieted into a tremble, like a sound stuck in his throat.
He didn’t pull out.
But something shifted. Slightly. Like he was fighting the chains of his own madness—just barely—and for a moment, I saw him. Not the beast. But the man underneath. His snout pressed against the curve of my neck again, and I thought he would bite me.
But he didn’t.
He breathed me in. A long, guttural breath that rumbled through his chest and into mine, as if savoring the scent of me. Then his forehead dropped to my shoulder, and his massive body shuddered.
Just as I started to ease, to breathe, to hope…
He groaned. The kind of sound that made my spine lock. A fevered sound. And then—
He came.
Violently.
With a roar that shook the chamber, Lance drove into me one last time. I screamed as he filled me, the hot rush of his release so sudden, so brutal, I almost passed out. My back arched against the stone, every nerve alight, my belly flooded with the force of it.
He was done. And yet I couldn’t stop shaking.
I didn’t even realize when he pulled out. When my legs finally collapsed and I lay limp, raw, completely open, and used. My thighs were slick—his seed seeping out of me and down my butt in slow, sticky trails.
I couldn’t move.
The darkness around me seemed to hush.
I wasn't sure how long I lay there, or if I’d fallen asleep until I heard footsteps.
I blinked, barely registering the sound of the iron door groaning open.
The sharp slam of reality came when I felt the warmth of a blanket wrap around me—scratchy wool against sweat-damp skin. My fingers twitched weakly. I opened my eyes, slow and blurry, vision swimming in a dark haze.
I flinched, thinking it was Lance again, but turned out to be Alaric. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t meet my eyes. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought it might snap. His grip around me was careful, cradling me as if I were made of broken glass.
I didn’t speak either. What could I say?
My naked body was leaking with the remains of Lance who had just wrecked me. My lips were chapped. My thighs ached. My soul… I didn’t even know if I still had one.
He carried me up the stairs in silence, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek.
I let my eyes close again.
Let the darkness take me.
I woke up with a fever.
My skin was soaked with sweat, clinging to the sheets like a second skin. My throat burned, and my body ached in ways I didn’t know were possible.
“Easy. You’re burning up,” Moira whispered, concern threading her voice.
I blinked through the haze, my throat too dry to speak. Her face hovered above mine, lined with worry. She looked older somehow. More worn.
“Water,” I rasped.
She brought the glass to my lips. I drank each swallow like swallowing fire. My throat screamed in protest. My chest ached.
“How long?” I whispered.
She hesitated.
Then a deeper voice answered from a distance.
“Two days.”
I turned my head, too fast, too dizzy, and saw Alaric standing by the doorway, arms crossed, jaw hard as stone.
Two…days?
I’d been unconscious that long?
“Your fever just broke this morning,” Moira said softly. “We thought... we thought you might not wake up this soon.”
I didn’t respond. My eyes drifted back to Alaric.
“Why are you here?” My voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath.
He didn’t answer right away. Then, “To see if you survived.”
The bluntness should’ve stung. It didn’t. Not anymore. I closed my eyes. My limbs felt heavy, foreign. “Is he...?”
I didn’t finish the question. But Alaric knew what I meant.
“He’s stable.”
That word—stable—meant nothing. Not after what had happened.
I turned away, bile rising in my throat. “You should go.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to comfort me. Just the soft rustle of his coat and the fading sound of his boots as he walked out the door.
Moira lingered. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat,” she insisted, smoothing my damp hair back. “You’ve barely moved.”
I didn’t argue. But I didn’t promise either. She left quietly. And then it was just me. Me and the silence. I stared at the ceiling for a long time. My mind wandered where I didn’t want it to go. To his eyes—burning gold, not a flicker of recognition.
What was wrong with me?
Why hadn’t I screamed louder? Fought harder?
Because part of me hadn’t wanted to. Because my wolf had howled for him. Craved him. Even now, buried deep within, she stirred not in terror, but longing.
It terrified me.
What had happened was a thing I wish never to experience.
I sat up slowly, wincing at the pain that lanced through my hips. Between my legs, I felt raw. My thighs hurt like hell and I could still feel wetness there, his seed. Shame licked up my spine like a second fever.
I stood too fast and my knees buckled.
Gripping the bedpost, I steadied myself. Stumbled toward the window.
It was already a full moon. Silver light spilled through the panes, bathing the floor. And my fingers curled around the windowsill.
I should leave, run away before things get worse for me.
It felt laughable now. Like a cruel joke.
But the memory stirred—the card. The one Alpha Kane had slipped me in secret.
I screamed.
Not out of fear anymore, but something far more primal. Raw. A scream that ripped from the deepest, most savage part of me. One that didn’t beg for mercy. One that simply was pain and confusion and burning, relentless need.
Lance didn’t stop.
His massive body loomed above me, all beast and nightmare. And yet, it wasn’t the terror of him that held me there beneath him. It was the unbearable weight of the bond. The way it sang. The way it pulled.
Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves through my bones, through my lungs, as if I were being shattered and rebuilt at once. My nails clawed at the stone beneath me, scraping until they bled.
He snarled into my neck, his snout dragging across the tender skin there, tongue lashing against my collarbone, my throat, claiming, tasting, devouring. His breath was hot and labored, panting like a beast in heat, and the sound of his growls echoed against the stone walls, vibrating through my ribs.
My body… gods, my body responded. Traitorously. Desperately.
It shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t have wanted him. But the heat between my thighs only grew, slick and humiliating, as his massive hips slammed into me again and again.
“Please,” I gasped, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I—I can’t—”
His claws dug into the stone on either side of my head, as if holding back the urge to rip me open entirely. And yet, his thrusts only grew rougher, deeper, the sounds of our bodies—fur against flesh, soaked and obscene—and my screams, filled the chamber.
I was drowning. Too overwhelmed to plead anymore.
I screamed in agony as he ravaged me mercilessly. Mindlessly. His pace was inhuman, fast, and forceful, as if
it wanted to penetrate my very soul.
Still, my wolf rose for him, whimpering, rubbing up against the invisible tether that tied us. Not out of submission. Out of recognition. Of the chaos. Of the wild. Of him.
My small body felt completely consumed by him.
I could feel the hard scales against my skin. Limbs like tree trunks. Talons were as sharp as daggers. I feared they would cut into me, given how tightly he held me. More than that, I feared I would die.
“Please!!” I screamed, overwhelmed.
I'm going to die!
“L-Lance,” I sobbed, voice cracking. “Please… you’re hurting me…”
He stilled.
His snarl quieted into a tremble, like a sound stuck in his throat.
He didn’t pull out.
But something shifted. Slightly. Like he was fighting the chains of his own madness—just barely—and for a moment, I saw him. Not the beast. But the man underneath. His snout pressed against the curve of my neck again, and I thought he would bite me.
But he didn’t.
He breathed me in. A long, guttural breath that rumbled through his chest and into mine, as if savoring the scent of me. Then his forehead dropped to my shoulder, and his massive body shuddered.
Just as I started to ease, to breathe, to hope…
He groaned. The kind of sound that made my spine lock. A fevered sound. And then—
He came.
Violently.
With a roar that shook the chamber, Lance drove into me one last time. I screamed as he filled me, the hot rush of his release so sudden, so brutal, I almost passed out. My back arched against the stone, every nerve alight, my belly flooded with the force of it.
He was done. And yet I couldn’t stop shaking.
I didn’t even realize when he pulled out. When my legs finally collapsed and I lay limp, raw, completely open, and used. My thighs were slick—his seed seeping out of me and down my butt in slow, sticky trails.
I couldn’t move.
The darkness around me seemed to hush.
I wasn't sure how long I lay there, or if I’d fallen asleep until I heard footsteps.
I blinked, barely registering the sound of the iron door groaning open.
The sharp slam of reality came when I felt the warmth of a blanket wrap around me—scratchy wool against sweat-damp skin. My fingers twitched weakly. I opened my eyes, slow and blurry, vision swimming in a dark haze.
I flinched, thinking it was Lance again, but turned out to be Alaric. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t meet my eyes. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought it might snap. His grip around me was careful, cradling me as if I were made of broken glass.
I didn’t speak either. What could I say?
My naked body was leaking with the remains of Lance who had just wrecked me. My lips were chapped. My thighs ached. My soul… I didn’t even know if I still had one.
He carried me up the stairs in silence, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek.
I let my eyes close again.
Let the darkness take me.
I woke up with a fever.
My skin was soaked with sweat, clinging to the sheets like a second skin. My throat burned, and my body ached in ways I didn’t know were possible.
“Easy. You’re burning up,” Moira whispered, concern threading her voice.
I blinked through the haze, my throat too dry to speak. Her face hovered above mine, lined with worry. She looked older somehow. More worn.
“Water,” I rasped.
She brought the glass to my lips. I drank each swallow like swallowing fire. My throat screamed in protest. My chest ached.
“How long?” I whispered.
She hesitated.
Then a deeper voice answered from a distance.
“Two days.”
I turned my head, too fast, too dizzy, and saw Alaric standing by the doorway, arms crossed, jaw hard as stone.
Two…days?
I’d been unconscious that long?
“Your fever just broke this morning,” Moira said softly. “We thought... we thought you might not wake up this soon.”
I didn’t respond. My eyes drifted back to Alaric.
“Why are you here?” My voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath.
He didn’t answer right away. Then, “To see if you survived.”
The bluntness should’ve stung. It didn’t. Not anymore. I closed my eyes. My limbs felt heavy, foreign. “Is he...?”
I didn’t finish the question. But Alaric knew what I meant.
“He’s stable.”
That word—stable—meant nothing. Not after what had happened.
I turned away, bile rising in my throat. “You should go.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to comfort me. Just the soft rustle of his coat and the fading sound of his boots as he walked out the door.
Moira lingered. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat,” she insisted, smoothing my damp hair back. “You’ve barely moved.”
I didn’t argue. But I didn’t promise either. She left quietly. And then it was just me. Me and the silence. I stared at the ceiling for a long time. My mind wandered where I didn’t want it to go. To his eyes—burning gold, not a flicker of recognition.
What was wrong with me?
Why hadn’t I screamed louder? Fought harder?
Because part of me hadn’t wanted to. Because my wolf had howled for him. Craved him. Even now, buried deep within, she stirred not in terror, but longing.
It terrified me.
What had happened was a thing I wish never to experience.
I sat up slowly, wincing at the pain that lanced through my hips. Between my legs, I felt raw. My thighs hurt like hell and I could still feel wetness there, his seed. Shame licked up my spine like a second fever.
I stood too fast and my knees buckled.
Gripping the bedpost, I steadied myself. Stumbled toward the window.
It was already a full moon. Silver light spilled through the panes, bathing the floor. And my fingers curled around the windowsill.
I should leave, run away before things get worse for me.
It felt laughable now. Like a cruel joke.
But the memory stirred—the card. The one Alpha Kane had slipped me in secret.
End of Auctioned to the Cruel King Chapter 45. Continue reading Chapter 46 or return to Auctioned to the Cruel King book page.