webnovel
#R18
#DARK
#BETRAYAL
#REVENGE
#WEREWOLF
#ENEMIESTOLOVERS
#TWISTED

A Dangerous Obsession

Three rejections. Three shattered dreams. That was Layla’s reality, all because she was different—a half-shifter in a world obsessed with purity. Ostracized, shunned, and finally sold off like a pawn to the most feared ruler alive—the Lycan King. He was ruthless, a king with a graveyard of brides, each one a ghostly reminder of a fate worse than death. Layla loathed him. Hated the way his gaze cold and fathomless, held no warmth for her. Hated how his touch, both thrilling and terrifying, sent an uninvited chill down her spine. --- “I hate you!” I screamed, hands clenched so tight my knuckles ached. He sighed, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips, his tone mocking as he closed his book with a deliberate snap. “Stressed, are we?” he asked, strolling toward me, each step reminding me exactly who held the power here. “Lucky for you,” he drawled, rolling up his sleeves as he stopped just inches away, “I know exactly 70 ways to ease those nerves.” His fingers brushed my cheek, a touch that seemed to burn into my skin. “The first… a hug.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper as he leaned in, breath hot against my ear. “And the rest... well, that's 69? what do you say about that?" I swallowed hard, my heart thudding wildly as he tilted his head, waiting for me to react, that insufferable smirk still in place. “What’s the matter, darling?” he murmured, a taunt lingering in his gaze. --- A Dangerous Obsession Can she resist the pull, or will she dance into the flames of her own destruction? A dark dive into obsession, raw need, and the razor’s edge between desire and devastation. --- LYCAN KING CASSIAN I will tear her apart piece by piece, feeding the wildfire that grips her with each shuddered breath. Like air to flame, I’ll claim every inch, drawing heat from her skin until it sinks into her bones. Her pulse will race under my hands, her breaths shallow, pleading. Her eyes may scream, but her lips will still murmur my name. That first taste of fear will only feed something deeper—a need that burns through her veins, molten and fierce. And just when she’s too far gone to turn back, I’ll twist the knife, giving her the pain she’s learned to crave. She’ll be the moth to my flame, helpless against the very thing that will consume her.

Donna_Sheldon · Fantasia
Classificações insuficientes
122 Chs
#R18
#DARK
#BETRAYAL
#REVENGE
#WEREWOLF
#ENEMIESTOLOVERS
#TWISTED

CHAPTER 9

LYCAN KING CASSIAN

This world is filled with all sorts of toys. And I'm the appraiser who judges the qualities of these toys.

I grasped his head firmly, my claw digging into his skull, as he dangled in mid-air. This one, right here, is a noisy one.

A sickening crunch echoed through the chamber, followed by a sharp gasp from this new toy. His eyes widened in terror as pain surged through his body.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cried out, his voice trembling. "I didn't want to do it... I was forced to do it! Please!"

The crunch of shattering bone echoed through the air, followed by a faint, pitiful whimper. I watched the toy's fragile body convulsed, his slender fingers trembling as his grip on my hand faltered, slipping away like sand between my fingers. His eyes slowly dulled, and his limbs went limp, dangling at his sides.

Once in a while, I get visited by these toys. While they serve various purposes, they all share a common trait: each one is either obnoxiously loud, infuriatingly annoying, or mind-numbingly dull."

"Your Majesty," Sabastine, my assistant and butler, called, holding up my robe for me to wear. "I apologize that you had to deal with this," he said, his voice tinged with disgust as he gazed at the lifeless toy.

I tossed the body aside. "Get me another one," I instructed, slipping my hand into the robe. "One that won't try to assassinate its own master."

"Your Majesty's wish is my command," he replied, presenting me with a towel to clean the blood from my hands.

As I cleaned the blood from my hands, the feeling of boredom lingered. My days in the tower had become increasingly dull. No matter how loud or annoying the toys were, they all failed to spark any genuine interest; they bored me. The scent of sandalwood and myrrh wafted through the air, a futile attempt to mask the stench of death.

"I'll choose the next one myself," I declared, handing Sabastine the towel.

Sabastine's eyebrows rose slightly. "An unusual decision, Your Majesty. May I inquire why?"

"I need something more... stimulating," I replied, waving my hand dismissively.

Sabastine nodded. "I understand, sire. Actually, I've received word of a slave auction at the Blackstone Market. Perhaps we'll find something that piques your interest."

My gaze snapped to him. "A slave auction?" I asked, my curiosity already piqued.

Sabastine hesitated before speaking. "Unfortunately, Your Majesty, you know as well as I that leaving the tower is... impossible."

The curse. That wretched goddess's parting gift.

I smirked, masking the frustration brewing inside me. "We'll work around it. Prepare my puppet."

Within the hour, Sabastine returned with an uncannily lifelike replica of myself, crafted from dark magic and skilled artistry. I focused my energy, projecting my consciousness into the puppet.

"Let's attend this auction," I said, my voice now emanating from the puppet.

Sabastine bowed. "As Your Majesty wishes."

At the Blackstone Market, the puppet and Sabastine navigated through the crowded stalls. Merchants and traders parted, bowing before us as we passed. The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and desperation.

We were ushered to the VIP section, where I observed the proceedings with interest. The auctioneer's voice boomed through the hall, highlighting each slave's qualities.

Slave after slave was presented, each with unique skills and attributes: a lean, agile boy with smooth dark skin; a muscular warrior with scars etched into his arms; a petite, delicate girl with hair like spun gold.

None, however, captured my attention.

Until she appeared.

Her raven-black hair flowed down her back like a waterfall of night. Her piercing emerald eyes sparkled with defiance, even as iron cuffs bound her slender wrists. I watched as she clenched her trembling fingers.

"This one," I muttered, my lip curling into a smirk. "I want her."

Sabastine leaned in, his voice barely audible. "The half-shifter?"

"Yes," I commanded, my voice firm.

Sabastine bowed. "As Your Majesty wishes." He hesitated before adding, "How much shall we bid?"

"One billion," I said, my voice resonating throughout the room.