**Chapter 8 – Alastor (Stiles) POV**
The last of the intruders dissolved into green-flecked ash beneath my heel, and the static settled into a low, satisfied hum that vibrated through the hotel's foundations. My power felt limitless now—no phantom tug of chains, no external will curbing the surge. The Spark that had once died with me in Beacon Hills flared brighter inside this body, letting me layer mimicry over every shadow tentacle until the street outside echoed with the dying screams of the gang I had just eradicated. Twenty threats neutralized in under three minutes using nothing but calculated misdirection and amplified static bursts. Stiles would have been proud of the strategy. Alastor simply smiled wider for the audience.
I turned back to the doorway where Charlie stood between Vaggie and a growing crowd of sinners who had witnessed the display. Her cheeks were flushed, thighs pressed together in that telltale way that screamed discomfort to me. *Still regretting the deal,* I thought, anger crackling like lightning under my skin. Even after I had poured myself into her repeatedly, made her scream until the canopy bed nearly collapsed, she carried herself like a martyr. The scent of our combined releases drifted to my heightened senses, mixing with her natural sunshine-and-brimstone aroma, and it only fueled the possessive rage. She had whispered "it's real" earlier, but I knew better. Those words were theater. Pity wrapped in royal obligation.
Vaggie stepped forward, spear raised. "Back off, Radio Freak. She's not your toy."
I laughed, the sound warping into a full swing orchestra that rattled the new guests' nerves. "Toy? My dear moth, our princess entered this arrangement with open eyes. The hotel stands. The perimeter is secure thanks to *my* efforts. And in return…" My eyes locked on Charlie's, antlers lengthening as static danced between us. "She provides whatever I desire."
Before either woman could protest, I wrapped a shadow tentacle around Charlie's waist and pulled her to my side, away from Vaggie's reach. The contact made her breath hitch audibly. I misread it as reluctance and tightened my grip, claws pricking lightly through her dress. "The night is young, and our guests require entertainment. But first, a brief intermission to reinforce the terms of our contract."
I didn't give her time to argue. With a burst of enhanced speed I whisked her into the side corridor, slamming the storage room door behind us with a wave of green sigils that sealed it shut. The small space filled instantly with the crackle of my power. Old shelves rattled as I lifted her onto a dusty table, shoving her dress up around her hips without ceremony. She was bare beneath it now—smart girl had abandoned the soiled panties—and the sight of her puffy, glistening folds still leaking my earlier spend made my cock strain against my trousers.
"You performed adequately for the crowd," I growled, radio filter heavy with distortion as I freed myself and thrust into her in one brutal stroke. She was slick, hot, and still loose from our earlier marathon, yet her walls fluttered instantly around my thicker length. "But I can see the reluctance in your eyes, Charlotte. That little display with your girlfriend? The way you tremble when I touch you? Spare me the charade."
She moaned loudly, head falling back against the wall, legs wrapping around my waist as if by instinct. Her cunt clenched hard, milking me with rhythmic pulses that felt far too genuine. I snarled and drove deeper, the table creaking under us. One tentacle slid between us to vibrate mercilessly against her clit while another wrapped her throat, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. Power surged unchecked—violet static arcing off my skin onto hers, leaving faint glowing trails that made her arch and cry out. I was easily thirty percent stronger; the mimicry spark triggered without warning, replaying her own earlier screams layered with distant wolf howls from my death in the Alpha Pack war. The flashback hit hard: claws in my chest, Scott's name on my lips, then rebirth knocking on her door with memories intact and chains obliterated.
"Still acting?" I hissed, hips snapping forward with punishing force. Each thrust made obscene wet sounds echo in the small room as my cum from before was forced out around me. "Even now your body betrays how little you want this. Fine. If pity is all you offer, I'll take it roughly." I angled upward, hitting the spot that made her eyes roll back, and felt her shatter around me almost immediately. Her orgasm was violent—walls spasming, fresh slick gushing over my cock, a broken sob of pleasure tearing from her throat that the radio in my head twisted into mockery.
It only made me angrier. I fucked her through it without slowing, antlers scraping the ceiling as I poured every ounce of love and frustration into each dominating stroke. She came again within seconds, nails digging into my shoulders, body shaking so hard the table legs splintered. I loved her. Loved her enough to rewrite Hell's rules for her dream. Yet here she was, tolerating the monster while her heart remained with Vaggie.
My own climax built like a static storm. I pinned her wrists above her head with shadows and spilled deep inside her again, flooding her until it overflowed in thick rivulets down her ass. The release was accompanied by a massive power flare that shorted every light in the corridor outside and sent a broadcast wave across the hotel announcing free drinks for new guests.
I stayed buried in her, breathing ragged, smile fixed even as my eyes flickered amber. "There. Contract reinforced. Now smile for our public, darling. Pretend a little harder next time."
Charlie looked up at me through tearstained lashes, chest heaving, body still twitching with aftershocks. For a fleeting moment her expression seemed full of real affection and conflict, but I turned away before the lie could cut deeper. The hotel buzzed beyond the door—new sinners checking in, Angel Dust already causing chaos, Sir Pentious plotting something idiotic. My chains were gone. My Spark lived again. And I would keep protecting her world even if it meant enduring the pain of her reluctant moans.
The radio played a melancholic tune as I straightened my coat and offered her my arm, already calculating how to turn tonight's violence into long-term alliances while the memory of her genuine-sounding cries looped endlessly in my head.