Alpha's Cruel Addiction

When Ophelia walked back to the table, Ophelia was already sitting there, pale-faced and stricken. He smirked to himself, knowing she never told anyone the conversation. Who'd believe a stutter like her?

Neil approached her. He raised a hand, feigning to smack her, but she was already bracing herself. Ophelia tucked her head, clenched her teeth, and squeezed her eyes shut. She could not defend herself against a vampire. It was against the law for a human to fight back against supernaturals.

Suddenly, Neil stroked her neck. Everyone was watching.

Neil swallowed and glanced around, wondering if he had seen correctly earlier. It must've been a trick of the light. There was no way that man would be intrigued by Ophelia.

"Why hurt your face now, when I can just hurt you in bed?"

Ophelia wished she could drop dead right then and there. She heard a noise outside in the distance again, but expected it to be their departing families.

"Get up, we're leaving the festivities."

Ophelia remained seated. She was stubborn, despite being beaten by her grandmother so many times.

If Neil was going to force her, he'd have to do it with his own two hands. If Ophelia was going to suffer, she'd make him work for it.

"You still don't understand your situation."

Ophelia hissed when he grabbed fistfuls of her hair and yanked her head back. The guests didn't even flinch. Her scalp burned, tears coating her lashes, for she was full of emotion. Her hatred overtook her fear, even for a split second.

"Escort her back to her bed chambers. It's the smaller tent right next to ours," Matriarch Eves offered with a bright smile. "It is getting late."

"I'll be glad to get a taste before the wedding then," Neil sickeningly said.

Matriarch Eves expression became strained. She turned to her granddaughter. "Remember to bid your suitor good night, Ophelia."

Suitor? This man was older than my father! Ophelia shakingly closed her eyes and obliged.

- - - - -

Walking to the bedroom was like seeking death. She felt herself being dragged like a pig for slaughter through the hallways doors.

Ophelia's silver jewelry felt cold as the executioner's knife. The entire walk, she thought about her father's words. There was a protective order for her, but why?

Was it for her blood? Ten years ago… It was the same time that her Grandfather died. Yet, the only blank spot in Ophelia's memories was when she was ten. Exactly what happened to her? To everyone around her? Did… she do something?

"M-my blood," Ophelia attempted. "I-I think you—"

"I don't care what you think," Neil snapped.

Ophelia continued getting lost in her thoughts.

More people knew about Ophelia's hidden abilities than expected. Was that why they deemed Ophelia's blood off-limits? Once word got out, what would the people do to her? Thousands of questions ran through her mind. Why were the Supreme Overlords of both species interested in protecting her? They could just turn her into a milking cow for healing.

After all, healing magic was rare and one in ten thousand mages possessed it. There were only fifty thousand recorded mages, meaning only five in the entire world.

"Y-you're going against the Great Lords," Ophelia warned Neil who walked with a hum, even though his wife had uncovered his plan.

"I'll be the first then," Neil arrogantly told her.

'Well then, I hope they gut and hang you like a big fish to warn others,' Ophelia coldly thought to herself. As she walked past people, she kept her head down, for a human was to never look a supernatural in the eyes.

Ophelia had hope. She believed Killorn was alive. A man as powerful as him wouldn't have died so easily. She recalled the clench of his strong muscles, the healthiness of his tanned skin, and his sharp stealth despite his powerful build.

Ophelia had only shared one night with Killorn. One. Long. Night.

Ophelia had a startling realization. She wanted to see Killorn one last time. Her mouth trembled, for she knew that would be impossible. Now that she belonged to another man, there was no going back. No more silver flames burning in his eyes, the flicker of his dark hair over his gaze, and the depth of his expressions.

No more Killorn Mavez.

Ophelia lowered her head in defeat. She suddenly regretted bearing the sterling silver that burned the skins of supernaturals. She wanted to hurt Neil, in the same manner he did to her. Neil was their family's sponsor, and she was a sacrifice.

"...are you sure?"

Ophelia glanced at the group of servants they just walked past. Suddenly, she saw their eyes widen at what the other said. Within seconds, they were rushing off. Again, with that commotion. Just what was going on?

"I bet every Alpha and vampire is jealous of me as we speak," Neil continued. "After all, I'll be the first vampire to ever go against both Overlords' orders."

'God, just shut up,' Ophelia wished he'd hit his head on a wall or something. At the horrid thought, she frowned to herself. All these words she wished to say, but never had the guts to. She was afraid of being beaten by a man in the same manner her grandmother used to abuse her. A man's hits were harder.

Ophelia clutched her white tribute dress tightly. Her palms were wet with perspiration. She wanted to hide the tremor of her fingertips, but couldn't.

"Brother, there you are!" Nathan cheered at the sight of his younger one. He grinned and leaned upon an Eves maid, his arm possessively around her shoulders whilst they stood outside of Ophelia's bed-chamber tent. He refused to let the younger brother be the only one having fun.

Ophelia eyed Nathan's wedding ring and the Eves maid who served her in the tent. She saw the human girl's frightened expression. Vampires were lovers—but only towards their own people. Humans were just food. The Eves maid had neglected Ophelia, but had the audacity to ask her for help.

"What a dreary little thing," Nathan dryly said, eyeing Ophelia with disinterest. But he did see a sliver of her neck, lean and long like a swan. He felt his fangs protrude and tickle his bottom lip.

"If I can't have a beautiful tribute," Neil remarked, obviously referring to Roselind, Ophelia's older sister. "Then I might as well have the best dish of the night!"

Nathan, his brother, howled with laughter, but his eyes never crinkled.

Neil knew his older brother was jealous. Every vampire within the vicinity was. They were salivating at the thought of Ophelia. And who knew? If Neil grew bored of her, he'd let his peers have a taste for a price. Yes… what a great plan.

Neil could use Ophelia as a money cow. Neil would milk her blood for what it was worth.

"Her Grandmother is coming soon with father in tow, if you're going to make your move, do it quick," Nathan snickered, watching Ophelia try to scurry off to the tent and clip it shut behind her.

Ophelia escaped inside, her fingers fumbling to button the entrance's cloth. Too late. Neil ripped through the buttons and stepped into her large, canopy tent. He glanced around, but in particular, on the make-shift bed in the corner.

"G-goodnight," Ophelia squeezed out in an attempt to get him to leave.

"Get on the bed," Neil demanded. "Your grandmother would be fine with me having a taste of you before the wedding."

A wedding that only you knew took place—but no one else did. Ophelia kept that comment to herself.

Ophelia remained glued to her spot. If he was going to make this a nightmare for her, she was going to give him hell. A beating or not, her fate was already sealed.

In the background, she heard a slight commotion outside, but Neil was too focused on her disobedience. There was a reason why they made the tributes stay out in the tents—it was to make sure no one did anything to them. All a woman had to do was scream and everyone would hear.

"You'll do as I say," Neil warned her. "You'll officially be my wife soon. You're my tribute, I own you now! I chose you at the ceremony, everyone saw it."

Everyone. Saw. It.

Ophelia swallowed hard. Without warning, he grabbed her wrists and yanked her to the bed. She opened her mouth to scream, but he grabbed her mouth.

"Mmph!" Ophelia screamed but it was muffled.

Neil pinned her onto the bed, his knees pressing hers down. Tears gathered in her eyes. Frightened for her life, she felt her heart race, her palms burn. For a split second, she thought she saw a glimmer of purple light coming from her fingertips. What?

If this was her life as a tribute, hailing from a powerful house, she couldn't imagine what the other women were going through. Were they all being violated in their own rooms? Her head spun. Suddenly, she saw a shadow approaching the tent entrance.

"My lord!" a voice screamed from afar, accompanied by the thundering of footsteps. No one was prepared for this, not even Neil who continued his monologue.

"I own you now. I can whore you off and your family would not care!" Neil seethed whilst his freed hand began to reach for underneath her dress. She struggled hard, but he felt it already. Her underwear. She fought him, but was weak, and his fingers were already brushing the cloth beside.

Tears filled her eyes. Her stress was at an all-time high. He saw the defeat slowly take over her face. Then, he released her mouth to see her shaking her head.

"N-no—"

"I can ruin and violate this body as I wish," Neil sneered down at her. "No one will say a single thing. There is no one in this world to protect you, Ophelia Eves Nileton."

"Except me." A man stepped out of the shadows and abruptly approached the bed. His voice was colder than death. He glowered with the intent of a massacre.

Neil's head swiveled around in disbelief. "What the—"

Roughly, an enormous hand grabbed Neil's face. Ophelia cried out in shock.

Ophelia's breath was caught in her throat. A tall and brooding man stepped out of the shadows with a sword the length of his leg. He was more handsome than night itself with cold and lifeless eyes.

"Mavez Werewolves are here!"

It was too late. Neil was not prepared.

Ophelia breathed out in time to hear a loud THUD!

"ARGHHHHH!" Neil roared in pain as his skull was smashed in a single grasp.

Ophelia gasped, just as something cold splattered all over her. Vampires were cold-blooded creatures. She blinked once. Guts lingered on her dress.

Blood. It. Was. Everywhere.

Red spewed from the hole in Neil's chest. A second later, the assaulter yanked out his weapon. He flicked his sword in a single swoop, the blood splattering off of his blade.

Then, Neil's body fell off of Ophelia and plopped to the ground. His face planted the floor, kissing it with his lifeless lips.

Ophelia stared at the intruder's sharp and glistening sword. He gripped it tightly, the veins of his forearms bulging, his muscles clenching. She let out a shaky gasp when she saw the large tent in his pants.

"Is this how a mourning wife greets her dying husband?"

The scene in front of her was one that she'd never expected—not even in a million years.

Her first husband had murdered her assaulter. Killorn Mavez was alive—and he was fuming.