The Offering

by Rosary Deville

  “Pl-Please, let me come.”

  Don shook his head, and his sinister smile grew. He cupped the back of my head and kissed me fervently. Parting my lips, he entered me, his forceful tongue mapping out my mouth.

  True to his word, for most of the day, he fed me his cock, making me swallow all his cum.

  Then he brought me over to the bed. Tying my hands over my head, he attached my wrists to a long chain connected to the bedpost.

  At this point, I was so hard—dripping with beta juices, my cock nearly blue—all I did was mewl. He had been submitting me all day. I had no will of my own at this point.

  Don climbed on top of me. Moving up the length of my body, he put his cock in my face. My mouth opened automatically, and he stuffed it inside.

  I whimpered. Salty tears trailed down my cheeks and into my open mouth that already held a salty taste from his cum.

  He stroked my face before gripping my hair and fucked my mouth until all I felt was the glide of his cock along my throat. He was controlling me through his alpha influence, and I didn’t even cough or choke anymore—my body like an extension of his.

  His cum filled my mouth, pouring down my chin.

  “Good, good, Fern.”

  Hearing him moan heightened my arousal, and I couldn’t stifle the hums and sighs that escaped me.

  I ached inside. My cock painfully stiff.

  “Please…” I spoke with a mouthful of cock.

  “Please?” Don pulled out. He looked up at the ceiling and dragged a hand through his long hair. “Say it again, my little Fern. Again.” His voice husky, lustful.

  “P-Please.”

  He moved until he lay on top of me and cupped my face. Immediately, I ground into him, begging for release.

  “Please, I need…”

  “What do you need?” He held my face between his palms and moved in to kiss me.

  I bucked against him and tried to close the distance between our lips. But he pulled away, hovering mere breaths from me.

  “Tell me, Fern. What do you need?”

  “You…Gods, Don…you!”

  He licked my mouth before sucking my bottom lip. “What do you need from me?”

  “You—fuck! I need you. Let me cum, please!” All my pride had long been forgotten. All I felt was my painfully hard cock, and my slick beta juices drenching the mattress beneath me.

  Don smirked. “I don’t know. Not sure you’ve earned it.”

  I sobbed so hard my vision blurred and my eyes hurt. “Gods…Don, I’m begging you!”

  Don clashed his lips over mine, invading my mouth with his forceful tongue.

  In one move, he entered me, thrusting his hips. The mattress creaked as the bed banged against the wall.

  “Well then,” he whispered into my ear. “Come…”

  I didn’t need my cock touched or his alpha essence forcing me over the edge. He simply said those words, and my body practically exploded. I thrust my hips wildly, matching his pace. Tingles of bliss consumed me as he pumped in and out of my ass. Beta juices spurted from my cockhead. At this rate, it wouldn’t have shocked me if it came out from my mouth.

  A scream ripped from my throat. Then another. And another.

  I moved into a state of orgasmic bliss, my mind disassociating like I’d left my body. Before I came down from my orgasm, another one bumped me back up, propelling me forward, spurred on by his movements, by my desperate need for release. I’d gone days without an orgasm.

  Don’s knots bulged inside me, and I swear I even felt a fourth one, but I was no longer in the waking world. It was like I’d entered Morrígan’s Paradise and spent an eternity with the Goddess of Sex, feeding off her lust, rejuvenating every part of my soul, trapping me inside her realm of ecstasy.

  I didn’t go back to school for two more days. Instead, I served him on my knees. Him fucking me in every position imaginable—some I didn’t even know were possible. All this time, he kept me high on his alpha prowess, completely stripping away my mind and will. Making my body act and do whatever he wanted. The message was clear. He didn’t need to put up with my rebellion. He could force me to submit. The question really was, would I give him my loyalty of my own free will?

  When I returned to school, I found Shamar at his locker. I took a deep breath and slowed my steps. I wondered how it would be between us now. I had interrupted his ceremony and had almost gotten him killed. What if Don hadn’t listened to me? Would I now be at his funeral? How ironic and awful would it have been if he’d had died for real, and right after he had crossed over his First Death—something I’d heard zombies call the death they’d experienced during their Change.

  Shamar must have sensed he was being watched. He turned around and our gazes met. His skin looked a darker green than normal, with a smidge of brown to it. It made his black eyes stand out. And was his nose skinnier? Were his new looks a result of his Change?

  Quickly he broke away and headed off. My stomach panged. He hated me. It made sense. I had endangered his life. Still, I had to at least apologize even if he no longer wanted to be friends.

  “Shamar, wait!” He quickened his steps. As a wereduin, I’d always been faster than him, now even more so. He had a shuffle in his step. One leg seemed to move slower than the other. I wondered if this, too, was permanent since he went through his Change. Most zombies shuffled when they walked, and now I knew why. “Please, Shamar, at least let me apologize, then you can hate me.”

  “Hate you?” He stopped so abruptly that if I had been directly behind him, we would have collided. “Me? Forgive you? I’m the one who nearly killed you!”

  “Yeah, but that’s because I stupidly came over. I mean, even Don told me not to.”

  “So what?” Angry and animated, his black eyes grew wide, and the saggy bags under them made him look terrifying. “It’s okay if I murder my best friend!” He sighed in frustration. “I would’ve killed you. You…of all people! Fuck this.” He stormed off. But with his shuffle, I easily caught up with him.

  “Shamar, wait!”

  He shook his head. “I bit you and probably came at you looking like a rotting corpse. I almost ate your brains!” Two vamps passing us in the hall turned to look at us.

  “Look, you didn’t, Okay?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Shamar sounded like he was about to cry. “I couldn’t live with myself.” Sure enough, he broke down sobbing.

  “Hey, I’m all right.” I patted his back. I wasn’t good when others started crying on me. Although with Shamar, I probably should have been by now. “I can take a few bites. I’m a wereduin. That’s like hugs for us.”

  He laughed a little bit at that.

  I smiled widely. “Seriously, Don bites me a hell of a lot harder.” That hadn’t been the right thing to say, for his smile faltered.

  “Did he hurt you for disobeying him?”

  “How did you know I disobeyed him?”

  “You said even he knew what to expect.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I disobeyed.” I shook my head. “Seriously, I’m fine. I was more concerned about you, actually.”

  “Me?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, you weren’t yourself. And then Don showed up, and he was all snarly alpha, and I thought he might kill you.”

  “In that case I might not hate the bastard after all.”

  “Did you not hear what I said?”

  “Well,” Shamar’s smile was a mixture of shy and chastising, “I was attacking you.”

  “Just-Just shut up, okay? I interrupted you. If you would’ve killed me, it would have been my own damn fault!”

  Shamar shook his head. “But you were just worried about me. Sorry I didn’t explain it better to you.”

  “We still friends?”

  Shamar looked troubled. “Is it safe, though? I’ll get that way from now on. Once a month, sometimes more, I’ll get the Rage.”

  “Was that what happened before? Was that your Rage? ’Cause I thought you still neede
d to go through your Change first?”

  Shamar looked sad. “Sorry, guess I really did leave you in the dark.” Anger grew in his tone, and he bunched his fists. “To think you almost died because of it.”

  I shook my head. “Well, it’s not like I asked about it all that much, either.”

  “Maybe not, but…but…” Shamar looked to be trying to find the words.

  “Hey, it’s okay.” I hoped the soothing tone I used reassured him. I was also still curious as to what I had seen. “So, that was your Rage, huh?”

  Shamar nodded. “It happens at the moment of the Change. When we come back to life, it takes a while for our consciousness to follow. And then, periodically, our minds slip again—”

  “Like you die again?”

  Shamar nodded. “And we revert to how we were exactly after the Change. We’ll need to have another ritual to help us return.”

  I found all of this incredibly interesting. “Do you still remember stuff? Or is it like a complete reboot?” Obviously, they remembered things, maybe I was asking stupid questions now.

  “We remember. Just like how I remember everything before, and during.”

  “During? You remember dying?”

  Shamar nodded.

  “What was it like?”

  “Different. Not sure our First Death is the same as actual death, though.” I pondered what he was saying. Still curious. Like I had a magnifier to look into what the actual death process felt like.

  “Anyway,” Shamar continued, “Those times are called the Rage. The more our minds stabilize in this world, the less it happens.” Bitterness laced his tone. “It’ll get worse before it gets better. But at some point, it’ll peak and finally level out, but that won’t happen for a while.”

  “Level out?”

  “Yeah, like it’ll happen on a regular schedule, and not so frequently. But at those times when it does happen, then it sorta becomes a ceremony, and we, uh, well, we—”

  “Go and hunt humans for their brains.” He wasn’t telling me anything new there. But I thought that was more of a coming of age thing that happened once.

  Shamar nodded. “Yeah, especially when these times become regular. We call it our Awakening. That’s the one where it’s like a coming of age ceremony. After that, Rage times are sacred for us. Times when we revert back to the state of our creation.” He glowered. “It’s disgusting. Everything about it is.”

  Given his pause, I think my assumption about him being embarrassed about sharing all of this info might have been accurate. But his tone, and the anger behind it, made me think that this went beyond embarrassment. Shamar hated who he was. That saddened me.

  I liked everything about Shamar. I couldn’t even express how happy I was that he was finally sharing more about this with me. He was my best friend, my brother—bro from another mo, in our case, another race’s mo. Shamar hating his zombie-hood was the same as him hating himself as a person.

  “Don’t talk that way.” I didn’t sound angry, instead there was a plea in my voice, and he paused. “There’s nothing disgusting about you.”

  He raised his brow.

  I chuckled. “Okay, it’s not that disgusting. But, well, I can relate. I kinda hate being a beta wereduin too. Our culture’s all sorts of fucked up. Hell, I saw one of my childhood friends killed by molebats and no one will ever be held responsible for that. No one seems to even care.” I couldn’t hide the anger and resentment raising in my voice. “For them, it was all her fault. It’s fucked up, that’s what it is. So, don’t, don’t ever hate yourself or your culture. I mean, at least what you and the humans do is consensual on both sides, even if it is…well, deadly and gross.” I really hoped he didn’t participate in that. What the hell would I do if someone killed him during one of those Rage events? “I mean, I don’t think you should do it. Not if you can help it, but well, you know, that’s just ’cause I don’t wanna see you get killed, so—”

  “I’m sorry that happened to you, Fern.” Shamar caught me off-guard, and I looked at him with wide, curious eyes. “About Myrtle and the molebats. I’m sorry you had to see that.” His soft words made my eyes water. How had this conversation become so mushy? “I was terrified for you. And well, I still am. I don’t ever want you to be put in danger like that again.” His features hardened. “That’s why…” He swallowed. “Like I said, this’ll be my life now—the Rage. And…I don’t want you a part of it.”

  Pain laced through my heart.

  “Not when it’ll put you in danger.”

  I couldn’t help the breathy laugh that burst out. Shamar looked betrayed. “Look, I get it. You don’t wanna see me get hurt. Arduinna knows how annoying you can get about that.”

  The corner of his mouth tugged into a smile.

  “But we’ve been friends for like ever. Don’t think I’m gonna just wanna stop. Besides, we don’t gotta hang out then.” I made a wry smirk. “Hey, from now on, I’m gonna go into heat once a month, and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna be around. So, just make it like that.”

  Shamar looked away. He still seemed unsure.

  “Listen, Shamar.” I rested my hand on his arm and it got his attention. “You’re my best friend in the whole fucking world. And I’ve lost so much,” I didn’t realize how painful it was to say these thoughts out loud, “Please don’t leave me, too.”

  Shamar seemed to break out of his gloomy cloud. He threw his arms around me. I was happy to say that while his hugs were still chilly at best, at least the Change hadn’t made them colder. Neither had it changed Shamar’s mind. Not if he was being my overly emotional and clingy best friend. “All right. Okay, I won’t leave. Let’s still hang out.”

  Inside, my heart rested. I hadn’t lost Shamar. Thank the Gods for that. “Okay, let me grab my things from my locker, and we can head to class.”

  Shamar nodded, and we walked off. I had to adjust my steps to keep to his slower pace.

  Chapter Five

  Perfecting You

  I had never seen Don dressed up before. He stood in front of the full-length mirror near the walk-in closet, adjusting his tie. The black suit and white undershirt complemented his dark mocha skin. It also emphasized his broad shoulders and powerful chest. His long hair, tied back in a low ponytail, looked the color of twilight instead of its normal silver-brown. His eyes, although not the neon they became at night, were a striking blue. He looked, dare I say, handsome. That pissed me off. I wasn’t supposed to find him anything but annoying.

  “I want you to wear this.” He handed me a velvety piece of fluff.

  Eyeing it, I wrinkled my nose. “Not happening.”

  He sighed. His eyes lingered on my Meat Skuwls band tee and worn-out jeans. “There’s no way you will be allowed in wearing that.”

  “Well, who says I wanna go anyway?”

  “I do. It’s expected of us. End of story.”

  “I really hate you, you know that?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Don went into the bathroom, not looking back. “Put it on, or I will do it for you.”

  I didn’t doubt it. Once again, I hated that I was born a werewolf and a Highborne at that. The celebration banquet we were attending was held by the upper echelons of our society. Werewolves of a certain caliber who had found mates and survived the Silver Offering were invited to attend. Don and I qualified. Really, ours was a good match according to all those stuffy werewolf traditions. Although, since Don had claimed me, even if I hadn’t been Highborne, I would still be allowed to the event, simply because of him.

  He talked from behind the door. “There will be very important wereduin there, so try not to be a brat.”

  “No promises.” Opening the velvet nightmare, I discovered was two articles of clothing, not a single piece as it originally seemed. The shirt was skin-tight velvet with a low neckline that exposed a sliver of my shoulders. It drew attention to the two claim marks, making the red scars even more prominent on my pale skin.

  Don wanted to show off the bit
es. It was a sign of ownership and told everyone I belonged to him. Of course, we still had one last Offering before the official claiming, so it was premature, but then Don did everything like that. He was confident and walked as if he owned the world, and if he wanted it, he would make it so. He had been remarkable that night during Silver, though. How he fought off the hordes singlehandedly, even after my blunder, which took us outside of his protection zone and on ground tipped in favor of the molebats.

  The black color was that of Don’s family crest. He was from an older wereduin family whose estate dated back centuries. Reluctantly undressing from my tee and jeans, I slipped it over my head and pulled it into place. The color went great with my black hair, even the parts where my natural brown had started to show. Since Don stole my flat iron, I couldn’t straighten my curls. I had spent the day arguing about its location to no avail. Don was one stubborn bastard.

  The fabric clung to my body. Down the front of the shirt were three claw slash marks that revealed my abdomen and bellybutton. They weren’t made by Don. It was the latest fashion for Highborne betas.

  I looked ridiculous and was glad none of my friends could see me. Otherwise, I’d never live it down. I stepped into the pants. The black velvet, also skintight, felt soft and smooth and shaped my body nicely. Claw marks slashed down the legs, but unlike with the shirt, underneath was blue silk.

  “Looks good on you.” Don stood in the hall. A comb, styling gel, and hair spray in his hands.

  “Okay, so you won’t let me style it myself, but now you’re gonna do it?” Bitterness laced my voice.

  “Well, of course, I can’t have you looking like a goth street kid.”

  “It’s not goth.”

  “Right.”

  “Just go away. Didn’t you like my curls?”

  Coming over, he stood behind me in front of the body length mirror in our walk-in closet.

  Ours? No, his. There was no way I was thinking about this place, however nice, as my house.