Chapter 15: Skyler - Pack of Mine

Anger rips through my body every single day.

I hoped and hoped that it wasn’t her, but alas, it was. After more than three years of research for a cure with Valentine, three years of searching for the person responsible for this hell… It was her fucking mother. Why did it have to be connected to her?

Octavia was lost in the foster care system after her parents died. Somewhere between switching homes a few times a month, dropping out of high school and being a menace to society, she became invisible to the government. Whether they couldn’t keep track of all the records or something, we don’t know. But shortly after going into foster care, her existence disappeared off the face of the earth.

We couldn’t find anything. No documents, no jobs, no social media. She just vanished.

The night that I met Octavia was the night that we lost all hope of finding a cure. Valentine and I stayed up looking through stolen records we got from the local hospitals and law offices in the area. He’s pretty well connected, but even with his access to special contacts, we found jack shit.

After tireless hours of reading and searching, we just gave up. It had been years since each of us had been cursed and ultimately, it felt hopeless.

I stumbled into that shitty dive bar shortly after a long run through the forest. I had just turned back to a human and found some wet clothes in a pile behind a Macy’s. It looked like an employee had tossed them away and they happened to fit me perfectly, like a match made in Hell.

Her smell… it drew me in. I couldn’t resist. She reeked of an alluring scent that felt God-given.

On top of that, she didn’t look like she belonged in that bar at all. She belonged in my bed, screaming my name and begging for mercy. Her long hair should’ve been bunched up in my fists, her green eyes staring up at me, her perfect breasts covered in bruises.

She belonged here, trapped in my basement and cumming all over my cock every night.

I felt a draw to her unlike any other before I could even explain it, but then…

She had to go and be the biggest kick in the teeth, just as I was starting to learn how to make it work with a girl. Her mother… the years we spent tracking down her only child and never found her – she was twenty minutes away, working at a dive bar, right under our noses.

The stairs creak as I head down to the basement. I scan my keycard and tuck it into my back pocket as I slip through the iron door.

The basement has turned into a crystal and oddities shop. Valentine, Tristan and I brought in bookshelves full of books, an altar with a cauldron, herbs and candles – pretty much anything a witch could need to break a curse or hell, even start a new one.

Octavia has been working day and night. Studying, casting, throwing shit into a pot and saying a bunch of crazy words. I’m not sure. I don’t know shit about shit when it comes to this stuff.

I approach her and she flinches. Mmm.

We haven’t had any fun since I found out. The venom, the hate that I feel… It completely consumes me.

I want to fucking kill her.

I want to rip her limbs from her body one by one and break each one of her bones slowly so she understands a fraction of what I feel every time I flip. I want to see her bleed for me.

“I’m still trying…” Her voice trails off. Dark circles hang under her eyes and I’m glad.

“Yeah, just try harder.”

I stalk around her in a slow circle and watch her every movement. She continues to read from an old, battered book and toss random herbs into a pile underneath a candle.

“What do you want from me, Skyler? I’m doing my fucking best.” She spits out.

Bad kitty. Also, not my name.

“I want to be a fucking human, witch.”

“These books don’t read themselves, you know. Maybe you could be more useful and help me instead of fucking off all day doing God knows what.”

Very bad kitty.

I pause, waiting a minute to let her feel like she got a dig on me, then I creep up closer behind her and tuck her hair onto her opposite shoulder, exposing her fluttering pulse in her neck. My lips brush her skin like paint and her breath hitches, slowing whatever the fuck she’s doing.

The composure she was holding together has now crumbled like a tower into me. She can try to hide all she wants that she doesn’t miss this – these sassy interactions with me – but I can fucking taste her desire in the air.

My hand wraps around her throat and I pull her body back into my chest, resulting in a squeal from her lips.

Her posture tightens and I can smell arousal pouring out of every orifice on her skin. Fuck, I don’t want her to feel pleasure, I want her to feel fear. I want her to be afraid.

I squeeze tighter and place my lips right next to her ear.

“If you can’t fix me, Octavia, I’ll fucking kill you.”

She whimpers slightly and starts to fight my restraining hold on her.

“It won’t change anything and it won’t cure my curse…” My fangs come down and I bite her earlobe hard enough to taste blood.

She thrashes under my grip and wheezes a bunch of nonsense out.

“But it’ll bring me immense pleasure to watch you slowly die for me.”

I let go of her throat as she chokes and coughs all over the altar, her heart beating a million miles a minute. She whips around to shoot a hateful glare at me and doesn’t say a word, but terror floods her eyes.

Skyler - 1, Octavia - 0.

I let out a laugh and head out towards the iron door. That surely should motivate her to work faster.

The metal locks shut behind me and I climb back upstairs to the main living area. Last week we installed cameras in the basement so we could watch her every move. No more running. No more hiding. Our catch wasn’t escaping again.

I pull up the video feed on the TV and kick back on the leather couch, light up a cigarette and keep an extra close eye on her for the rest of the night.

* * *

I wake up in a jolt from a bad dream, my body jumping two feet in the air, but I settle back down when I see Octavia sleeping peacefully on the screen. The moonlight pours in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the living room carry a deep and sensual vibe.

“Fucking Hell, what time is it?” I mumble to myself.

3:48 a.m. glares back at me on my phone screen.

Well, I might as well make a drink while I’m up and can’t fucking sleep.

The bar is always stocked with goodies since Valentine is a big drinker. I think he drowns his emotions with a tall glass of whiskey – maybe that’s why he’s so damn cold all the time.

Well, now it’s my turn. I drag my fingers across the bottles and sing eenie, meenie, miney, moe until I land on one with an old black wax sealing the top. The liquor pours into a heavy crystal glass and I notice that it’s a little more empty than the last time I drank it, a scent of Octavia seeping off of it.

Interesting.

I pace around the living room, glass in one hand and bottle in the other.

“What are you doing up so late?”

Tristan scares me half to death as he sneaks into the room. Seriously, how does he do that?

“None of your fucking business.”

I take a swig of my drink and sink back on the couch, resting the bottle down on a side table. Nervous energy ticks around him like a grandfather clock as he eyes the particular handle of whiskey I have.

Ah, so he knows something.

Tristan Walker has always been such a fucking pushover. He goes along with what everyone says and even when he tries to stand up for himself, he gives in so easily. The boy is gonna have to grow some balls at some point in his life or learn to comfortably live with mine dragging across his forehead every day.

He sits across from me in a chair on the other end of the leather sectional, but he doesn’t pry any more. His outfit consists of a pair of dark blue boxer shorts, pink and white scars on his chest and a near-fatal lack of confidence.

We sit in silence together and I sip on the whiskey, swirling it around my glass while he sulks in whatever’s got him stirred up today. His head starts to hang low and he looks stressed, like he’s having an argument with himself inside his skull.

“Just spit it out.”

I laugh and watch him suffer the consequences of his own thoughts.

“I… I can’t.” His voice is quiet and cowardly.

Showing little interest in him, I lean into the back of the couch, light a smoke and patiently wait for him to grow the courage. His fingers run through his blonde hair and he shakes his head multiple times.

Whatever the fuck is on his mind, it’s bringing him close to a transformation. He’s either gotta talk about it, or accept the fate of the flip.

“I don’t bite, Tristan, unless you ask me to.”

I smile and show my pearly whites to him, but as soon as his blue eyes say hello to mine, his head bows again.

“I… I needed a taste of her. Everyone got their turn but me and… I was so desperate when you two were gone.” He grabs his crotch tightly and leans back into the back of the chair. “She felt so good, so perfect. I understand it now…”

His sentence struggles to find an end and his eyes shut tightly. “I shouldn’t have done it in the first place… I want more now.”

He rubs his crotch that’s straining against his boxers now and I watch, occasionally sipping the liquor and blowing smoke in pretty circles into the air. Aww, pathetic.

His fingers run over the circular scars on his chest and pinch them, like he’s remembering where each of them came from. For a moment, I think he’s about to just jerk off in front of me without a care in the world, but that’s not Tristan.

He’s more pathetic than that.

I sit up quickly to approach him and he flinches, instinctively shielding his head with his arms. Holding back a laugh is impossible, and my humor only makes him cower more. My legs bend and I squat in front of him, meeting him at eye level.

After a moment, he finally opens his eyes and looks up at me, dread painting his face into a twisted piece of art.

Two in one night? I’m on a lucky streak.

“Did you really think I didn’t know about that?”

I scratch my scruff.

“Wha… What? How did you know?” He still looks anxious, but relieved in a way.

I want to say, “I can smell her fucking pussy on the couch, asshole. The whiskey bottle is half empty, and a dying guilt covers your face. Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

But I decide to fuck with him instead.

“I told you, I know everything, Tristan.”

My large hands forcefully shove him into the back of his chair again and he gasps, the relief quickly wiped off his pretty face. My entire body hovers over him, like a predator taunting his prey right before the kill.

So. Fucking. Pathetic.

His boxers are still pitching a tent and it draws my eyes. I stick my lit cigarette in my teeth, set my half-empty drink on the table next to him and grab the edges of his waistband before ripping them off his pale legs and onto the floor.

He tries to cover his shaking naked body, so I grab his wrists and hold them with one hand above his head. My other hand catches spit from my mouth and wraps around his hard cock.

“You can’t lie to me, bitch boy.”

His lips part, pleasure-filled moans escape his lungs and his eyelashes kiss his cheeks. This is exactly what he wanted, but tonight won’t play out in his favor. I’ll make sure of that.

His cock twitches in my grip, begging me to squeeze harder. I stroke him at a painfully slow rate and keep his hands up and away, high above his head. Not that he would’ve fought me on anything, ever.

I love to watch Tristan’s slender body melt for me. My lungs take a deep inhale and I blow smoke into the air around him.

“How good did she feel?” I mumble through the cigarette in my teeth.

He doesn’t answer, so I tighten my grip enough to hurt and he shoots open his eyes to look at me, confused.

“Huh?” He questions me, which is a mistake. I pull my hand off of his length and he whimpers desperately at the loss of my touch.

I know he knows better, he should be paying close attention to every word that comes out of my perfect mouth. I pull my cigarette out and ash it on his chest. That should remind him.

“Did I fucking stutter?”

He winces and his face shows signs of distress, but desire absolutely reeks off of him. I told you, my little pet would do anything for me to look at him longer than six seconds.

He can deny that he’s enjoying this, but I know the truth. Liar, liar, balls on fire.

“She… she felt so tight, so wet. Her moans were so fucking perfect, her skin was so fucking soft. Her pussy ached and clenched as she came all over me and… I can’t fucking stop thinking about it.”

That’s better.

I wrap my fingers back on his cock and he groans, making my lips pull into a grin. My hand strokes faster, watching his every move closely.

“Your pleasure comes from me, little brother, not from anyone else. I’ll take it away and give it back to you whenever I fucking feel like it.”

His pupils cross and get a great view of the inside of his skull as he thrusts his hips into my squeezing palm, his body shaking with anticipation. Will I let him cum, or will I make him wait?

“Skyler…” Words are barely making their way out of his moaning mouth. “Please… I’m begging.”

“That’s not my fucking name.” I rip my hand off of him again and he cries.

“Daddy, I’m sorry, Daddy.” He apologizes with a side of blue puppy dog eyes.

Smoke fills my lungs with another deep inhale and I exhale it directly into his squinting eyes, smiling like a freak and stroking him again.

“What are you begging me for, Tristan?”

His entire body squirms around the chair and he tries to fuck my hand, pumping his ass up and down. His pitiful whimpers make my pants grow tighter by the second.

“Please, Daddy, you know what I want.”

He looks up to me with begging blue eyes, an open, panting mouth and sweaty blonde hair. His misery almost makes me reconsider my already made-up decision.

I know exactly what he wants, but ruining Tristan’s night will give me what I need to get some sleep. Control over everything. Plus, hearing him beg for it only brings me more gratification.

“Beg me.” I pull my hand off and slap him across the face, his saliva flying through the room.

He continues to twitch in my grip and groans.

“Please let me cum, Daddy. Please let me cum for you tonight.”

His pleas entice me, but I’m too enthralled in making his balls as blue as his irises to consider it too much. I let go of his hands, shoot the rest of my drink down the hatch and shove the scolding orange tip of my cigarette into his scarred chest.

He flinches and his eyes flood with tears, but he doesn’t fight the pain. His skin sizzles and I watch it boil over, the putrid smell of burning flesh filling the air. This searing will only add another to his collection.

“No.”

I let out a deep sigh and place my put-out square into the ashtray, squatting on the floor in front of him.

The sight is so beautiful – his face is covered in a burning desire for more, for me. The new wound on his chest will remind him of yet another time I rejected him. He whimpers and mumbles unintelligible things, but they’re muffled as I get lost in my sadistic thoughts.

“Sit on your fucking hands.”

I bite my lip and watch him obey, his brain fighting every instinct in his body to touch himself. How long will he last?

Tristan is a good dog, he’ll behave, but it’s incredible to watch his restraint. It’s similar to watching an animal do a new trick you taught them – you feel proud and satisfied. He’s a good pet, just like I’m training Octavia to be.

I give him a soft kiss on the forehead and walk behind his chair, my hand tracing over his fresh burn and scratching it open with my fingernails. He seethes his teeth, but his cock twitches.

See? A good dog.

“Daddy, please, please change your mind.”

I listen to him grunt and moan as I walk towards my wing of the house. His absolute need to listen destroys him from the inside out as he squirms around in the seat and whines for Daddy.

I keep walking and stop just before my bedroom door. “Go to your room. And if you cum tonight, I’ll never let you touch her again.”

I hear him sigh and slowly stand up, putting his boxer shorts back on. His feet frustratedly stomp back to his wing.

“That’s a good boy, Tristan.” He doesn’t acknowledge me, but we’re wolves. I know he heard me.