The Lycans Luna Witch

Chapter 2

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Addie

A hard slap across my face wakes me. And not the first, as indicated by the tenderness of both cheeks.

Silas' face comes into view, and I scramble upwards and away from him, hitting my back against the headboard. Fuck. I'm in his room. I hated being unconscious around him. Scanning my body, I at least confirm he hasn't started feeding while I was in knockedoutville. My throat, however, is throbbing, and when I touch my hand to it, it feels bruised and swollen. Blinking my eyes, they also feel scratchy. Bloodshot, probably. This isn't the first time he has strangled me, and if I stayed, it wouldn't be the last.

"Finally. I thought you had eventually driven me to kill you. Pity." He sneers and then runs a hand over his smooth head, his words not making sense with how upset he seems. As if he cares that I might die. The only thing he mourns the most about that scenario is that he would have to find another witch to feed off of. Not easy these days. An inconvenience, at the very least.

"You made me kill Harry." Even if I could defend myself, I don't. I'm accustomed to him blaming me for his impulsive behavior. In his eyes, I am always the cause. A grown-ass, century-old vampire blaming his erratic behavior on a mere mortal. It made no sense and just made him look weak. Not only to me but to the vampires downstairs. Their whispered words were not as quiet as they thought. It was only his strength and age that kept him on the throne. But even that had a finite lifespan. All it took was one too many vampires killed in my name before the rest staged a coo.

"Why do I put up with your behavior? Perhaps I should sell you to Kingsley. He has always wanted a scarlet-haired pet." I shiver at this threat thrown at me more often than I like. Just thinking of the fat old vampire who often comes to visit and the way his slimy gaze rakes my body makes my stomach churn even now.

"Tell me, Addie. Would you go to him so easily?" Silas spins around, his red eyes locking with mine as he takes slow steps toward me—the predator. Except in nature, they killed quickly. This one liked to play with his food.

He leans forward, his hands on the bed, bringing his gaze closer to mine.

This again.

He wants something I cannot give—my will, my admission that I am his and only his. It does not come, it cannot pass my lips. It is an untruth I could never speak, not even to save myself.

He sees the resolve in the clench of my jaw and the subtle movement of my chin in defiance.

"Insolent, ungrateful wench!" He spits on me, and I flinch as he grips my chin painfully.

"You would be dead by now if it wasn't for me. Yet, you refuse me. Me? A King!" His anger is almost palpable.

"Things might be different if you just..." He doesn't finish the sentence, the words a death sentence to his ego if he did. He wants me, but he hates himself for it. The mighty King wants a mere mortal woman. Someone beneath the stature they themselves have created and not just because of their physical differences. Because of their distorted view of what they deemed worthy. And I certainly didn't fit that bill. Thankfully.

He pushes my chin away harshly, almost as if I am too foul to even look at.

"Dress up. Remember that you brought this on yourself." His snide words are followed by him pulling on his tie before removing it.