Alpha's Cruel Addiction

They had traveled for two days since House Nileton. It had been days since she was kidnapped and he even touched her. He was already thirsting for her again. Ophelia wondered if she'll ever be able to satisfy this man.

Ophelia was terrified, for it had been two days since their journey, she didn't smell pleasant, and the dress was giving her bad memories. Slowly, she edged back and back, until her body hit a wall. He narrowed his eyes sharply, watching her the entire time.

Ophelia was intimidated by his large form that towered over her. He talked in her direction, like a panther analyzing a tiny bunny.

"What are you doing?" Killorn roughly asked, slowly raising his arm to press on either side of her head.

Ophelia stiffened. Killorn cornered her against the wall.

"I-I…" Ophelia was startled, for her dress was deftly stained, her skin dirty from two days of not washing, and she wasn't in the prime condition.

Even so, he buried his face into her neck. Then, he kissed her skin. She shivered at his impact, his hard body pressed against hers tightly. He felt a war rage from within, a desire to ravage her on the door.

"Ophelia," Killorn groaned. He nibbled on her skin, her pulse quickening under his touch. She smelled delightful, but his scent on her was wearing off. He couldn't have that happen—not when they were approaching his territory.

"I-I do not smell p-pleasant…"

"I do not care." Killorn grabbed her by the waist and softly licked at the area he bit. She gasped, her hands curling up his shoulders. He breathed softly, whilst kissing a trail to her neck.

Ophelia felt a passion burn from within. Her lashes fluttered as she melted against his heated mouth. Only when she sniffed, did she freeze. She smelled like spilled guts and vomit.

"Ophelia." Killorn could never say her name often. It was one of the most beautiful, yet tragic sounds he came across.

"N-no…"

Killorn pulled away. He saw her timid glance to her feet.

Ophelia shrank closer to the pillars holding the bed frame, until soon, her back hit the wooden material.

"I-I am d-dirty…"

"You are clean, my sweet," Killorn muttered in confusion.

"T-the auction h-house… D-does it not bother you t-that I was once being s-sold?" Ophelia squeezed out, finally finding the guts to voice her concern, for she didn't want to deceive this man.

Killorn paused. He was bewildered by the problem. Was this what had been bothering her? He tugged his brows together in concentration as he tried to understand it from her perspective. He saw how terrifying the kidnapping would be, but how would she being sold affect his perspective of her? It didn't alter his image of her in the slightest bit.

"I-I'm so d-dirty, I-I… as a woman, I—" Ophelia was choking with anxiety. "H-how can you not be r-repulsed by me, my lord?"

Killorn's face began to change as the misunderstanding melted away. He immediately processed what was running through her mind. She thought the auction house made her undesirable. Was this how horribly she thought of herself?

"I-I am so u-unworthy of y-your kindness... I-I…" Ophelia could barely continue her sentence.

"Ophelia." Killorn's voice became deadly as a blade, swift and sharp. She flinched, her lips trembling, and her eyes widening. He was an inch away from punching a hole through the wall. Everything clicked within him.

"Never," he seethed. "Ever. Say. Something. Like. That. Again."

Ophelia was trembling with fear. She could barely breathe. The tension in the room thickened. He was simmering with sheer fury. She thought his rage would overcome even the enormous flames in the fireplace.

"You hear me?" he snarled, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look up at him.

Ophelia softly gasped. "I-I was w-wrong, I-I'm so s-sorry," she began to beg, willing to drop to her knees if she had to.

Ophelia could barely think straight. Her eyes began to shake and she tried to rack her brain for solutions to fix him. The matriarch would always grow serious before beating her in the worst manner possible. She bit on her tongue hard enough to draw blood in the hopes of holding back a sob. She had been so stupid for speaking her mind, she knew she should've—

"Fuck."

Ophelia jumped. Killorn suddenly cupped her face. His nostrils flared, his lips thinned into a line. Then, he dropped his head and sharply exhaled. He rested his forehead against hers. Her heart pounded like a wild horse in her chest, enough to drown out the crackle of the fireplace.

"Ophelia, you—" Killorn groaned. "Where do I even begin?"

Ophelia couldn't comprehend the situation at hand. She didn't think she ever could. Why was such a large and prideful man bowing to her? Why did he always try to lower his huge frame to her tiny one?

"Ophelia, my lovely wife, I—" he cut himself off. "You—"

Killorn could barely gather his thoughts. Then, he held her face in his palms, as if she was the most prized possession he owned.

"You are always worthy of me, it is I who never deserve you, Ophelia. It is all my fault. Not yours. Never yours, you understand?"

Ophelia's mind short-circuited. What did he just say?

"I will never blame you for the auction house or the kidnapping. You went out in good earnest to fetch me water. I should've gone with you. I shouldn't have been so exhausted, I—"

Killorn paused. He raised his head and then kissed her upon the forehead. She gasped, clutching his wrist in shock. He could barely voice his thoughts, for he was so eager to soothe her anxiety.

"It is alright Ophelia, you are safe with me now."

Ophelia was shocked. Through his long and powerful fingers, she felt his slight tremor. It was almost as if he was afraid to hurt her—a thought that was so bizarre. She was just a human girl and he was a powerful werewolf

Killorn Mavez was one of the most powerful Alpha's alive. His regime was soaked in blood. People trembled at the mere mention of his name. Grown men piss themselves at the thought of crossing his path. Not a single person dared to offend him.

Yet, this great man was shaking. From what? Anger? Remorse?

"P-please don't blame yourself," Ophelia pleaded, her voice cracking. "I-I… I don't…"

"Fuck." Killorn couldn't hold back from cursing. He was so at a loss for words. He could barely begin with his immense guilt. "Ophelia, don't forgive me for this, don't you dare—"

"Please," Ophelia whimpered, the first time she had stopped stuttering in front of him. She didn't want to see him like this, so apologetic for a problem she caused.

Killorn tightly squeezed his eyes shut. Without warning, he embraced her tightly. She was frozen in his iron grip. He buried his face into her neck, his arms trembling to hold her properly. She had never once seen or felt ihm like this before. She was shocked, her arms limp by her side.

The entire journey back, they barely spoke. They seldom made conversation in the carriage. All along, Ophelia thought he hated her with a burning passion. She wouldn't blame him if he did.

Ophelia considered herself the worst wife in existence—first, she thought her husband died, then, was a tribute to the Decade Mating Ceremony on what could've been his death anniversary. And then, her blood was drained, causing further conflict.

Not to mention, the worst crimes took place: Killorn, a werewolf committed the worst crime of the empire—murdering vampires. His actions were enough to spike an uproar. He had massacred a great vampire House. This was a crime against humanity in itself. His behavior violated the werewolf and vampire treaties. He put himself in far more danger than imaginable, just for Ophelia.

"I-I am so sorry, my lord…" Ophelia cried out, clutching onto him, grabbing anything she could, even if it meant his cape. "I-I—"

"Shh…." Killorn was quick to cease her complaints, as he comforted her to no avail.

Killorn was not used to soothing tears or frightened people, or anything along those lines. He had no experience. His only experience in aiding someone in distress was saving their lives. Once, a little soldier he was training had broken down in tears in front of him, and all Killorn did was let the tiny boy hold onto his thigh like a handkerchief, until their eyes were dried. The entire time, Killorn had stood there like a tree and the soldier profusely thanked him before running off. Killorn did nothing.

Now, Killorn was met with the dilemma of being far too precious for him.

"It will take time for you to heal from this incident," he murmured. "But I will be here every step of the way. You have my word, Ophelia."

Killorn didn't know or understand the full extent of the cruelty upon her in the auction house. In his mind, she was kidnapped and sold.

Ophelia was dizzy by his words. Her heart squeezed into a tiny ball, her chest tight, for she was unable to express her thought process. She was beyond touched by him, relief flooding her system. She felt like she could finally breathe again with this enormous mountain off her chest.

"Now, let's get this horrid auction gown off of you."

Ophelia's head weakly snapped up. She flinched as he ripped off the white auction dress. The material fell to the ground as cold air bit her on the skin. She shivered, goosebumps immediately breaking out.

"Come, my lovely wife," Killorn stated whilst tugging off his fur coat and wrapping it around her shoulders, shielding her naked skin from the bitter air. Then, he bent and picked up the ribbed fabric with one hand and taking her wrist in the other.

Ophelia timidly followed after him. He threw the dress into the fire. She gasped and watched with wide eyes as it burned. Her heart drummed heavily at the remnant of the fabric. She took it all. At first, the fire consumed the lace, then, the beads, until it melted, the horrid thing soon going up in flames. The golden fire consumed the material, burning it to a crisp. Soon, the auction gown was nothing, but ash.

Ophelia stared, almost bewitched by the fire. She hoped in the future that her memories in the auction house would be swept away like ash too.

"All gone," Killorn softly said, almost as if he hoped this would comfort her.

It barely did. The dress was gone, but the scars were there forever.

"I-It will t-take me a w-while to heal," Ophelia weakly agreed, her voice cracking towards the end.

"It is my fault and I will take responsibility for it," Killorn responded in a low and composed tone.

Killorn blamed himself for not protecting her better. It was because of his inadequacy that her stammer had become worse. She could've healed much better had he not let her be kidnapped. What was one or two stutters had suddenly become every single word—all because of the trauma she faced from being kidnapped.

Killorn couldn't even imagine what he could do to unwind the damages of their actions. He reached for her, intent to properly take care of her, that is, until a loud voice interrupted them.

"ALPHA!" a frantic voice cried out from behind the door.