Chapter 8: Nothing Remains
Seraphina
"Fuck you!" I whispered, my voice barely audible but sharp enough for him to hear.
The room fell silent, so still I snapped my head up. Draven's face wasn't cold anymore; a glint of amusement flickered in his eyes—not playful, but dark, dangerous, the kind that screamed I should've kept my mouth shut. He was going to relish whatever trouble he'd send my way.
"She's wild… she's wild, Alpha!" one of the men jeered, and the others erupted in laughter so loud it made my stomach churn.
"Stand," Draven commanded, his voice low and unyielding. My eyes flicked to him, and slowly, I rose, clutching my gown tightly, shielding myself from their leering gazes.
"Ooh, she's hiding her assets," another man mocked, his eyes raking over me with blatant lust. "She doesn't know they aren't hers anymore. They belong to the Alpha King now."
"Strip!" Draven hissed, his gaze locked on my hands, which gripped my clothing in fear.
I stared at him, stunned, hoping I'd misheard.
"I hate repeating myself, Seraphina," he whispered, his voice dark and menacing, making my toes curl in dread.
"I can't… please… don't do this," I pleaded softly, but the men only laughed louder, their voices slicing through my skin, my heart pounding so hard it echoed in my ears.
Draven stalked toward me, his eyes pinning mine. I backed away, desperate for distance, but my shoulders hit the cold wall instead. A sickening half-smile curled across his lips.
"When I tell you to strip, Seraphina," he hissed, his right arm caging me against the wall, his head dipping so close to my lips I couldn't look away from his piercing gaze, "you strip without blinking. But since you disobeyed me… and told me to fuck you, I'll gladly oblige. You're my slave, Seraphina, and I am the lord of misery—not just a name, but an act I inflict on my enemies. And you, Seraphina, are my fated enemy."
His hands tore through my black corset wedding dress, ripping it in two like it was nothing. Cold air hit my skin, and water dripped from the ceiling, as if it had been waiting to mock me further. I scrambled to cover myself with my hands, but a growl rumbled from his throat as he grabbed my wrists, pinning them roughly against the wall. My dress pooled around my waist, sliding down my curves.
"Please, don't," I whispered, fighting the sobs threatening to break free.
"Why should I?" he murmured, his voice chilling. Somehow, he'd produced a cuff chain, and I felt its cold metal bite into my wrists, chaining me to the wall. My body shivered as the icy steel sent a jolt through me.
He stepped back, his eyes raking over my exposed chest, a mix of disgust and cold indifference on his face. "Look at her. How does she look for a slave?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Her breasts look like they need scars, some sucking, some palming," one man said.
"Her buds are so pink, so… enticing. I want to wrap my tongue around them and suck hard," another added.
"Maybe a pinch could redden her areolas even more," a third chimed in.
I held my breath, unable to meet their gazes. Draven's face still held that cruel smirk. I couldn't believe it—I, Princess Seraphina, daughter of the Lancasters, was being made a spectacle, mocked, my clothes torn, men staring at me like I was nothing.
Suddenly, Draven closed the distance again. His hands cupped my breast roughly, fondling it with such force it burned with pain. I clamped my lips shut, refusing to make a sound, staring at the ceiling. I wouldn't crumble. Never.
"I love it when you're tough," he whispered, "because I'll enjoy breaking you."
Something sharp pierced my nipple, and a scream tore from my lips. I glanced down to see his claws extended, pressing hard into my sensitive skin. My eyes clouded with unshed tears, but I fought them back. He pinched harder, rolling my nipple between his claws, and all I felt was disgust. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to escape to memories of my pack, my handmaid Greta. Was she still alive? Did anyone from my pack survive?
But his claws dug in again, sharper this time, and I couldn't stifle the scream that ripped through me. The men's laughter filled the air, their hands working over their exposed, hardened cocks, aroused by my torment. That was all it took for the tears to spill, hot and unstoppable, streaming down my face.
Draven released me abruptly, a thin trail of blood trickling from my breast down my stomach. He wiped his hands with a cloth, tossing it at me carelessly. "Have Sable come clean her up and prepare her for me," he ordered, glancing at his men before turning back to me.
His hand shot to my jaw, gripping it roughly, his face as cold as ever. "How does it feel, Seraphina?" he whispered, letting go with a harsh shove. He strode out of the cell, leaving his men to leer and pleasure themselves at my expense.