Just as Cassidy phases into the most dangerous stage of her Breeding Time, she is stolen while her protectors are fighting with the rival clan who want Cassidy for their own. Cassidy is an integral part of the foretold Lycan Breeding Prophecy and two rival clans will tear each other apart to possess her. This is the second in the ongoing series.
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This approximately 4,000 word short story is intended for mature readers... moreJust as Cassidy phases into the most dangerous stage of her Breeding Time, she is stolen while her protectors are fighting with the rival clan who want Cassidy for their own. Cassidy is an integral part of the foretold Lycan Breeding Prophecy and two rival clans will tear each other apart to possess her. This is the second in the ongoing series.
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This approximately 4,000 word short story is intended for mature readers. If you're not 18 years of age or older, please find something else to read.
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A teaser taste!
“Life is cruel,” he said simply. “Blame the gods for drafting such a prophecy to rule our lives.”
Suddenly, she became aware of a prickling heat dancing along her skin and she wiped away the beads of sweat that gathered at her hairline. Sweat dripped along her ribcage as her internal temperature began to steadily rise. Oh no, she thought with rising panic. Not now! She looked up at Cristophe and he started when her eyes dilated and everything became hazed in red in her vision. “Cristophe…” she gasped, bending over as a fresh stab of arousal spiraled through her.
“You are phasing again, too soon,” he muttered, catching her as she fell to the ground. “You’re on fire, damn it. You’re not supposed to phase so quickly! You should’ve had at least a few days to recover.”
“Don’t let me die,” she pleaded, gripping his shirt. “Please! I never asked for any of this.”
The arousal turned to pain as her channel slicked with moist heat, needing to be filled. The emptiness of her core created waves of pain and need that caused her to cry out with agony. “Oh God! I can’t handle this! Please help me, Cristophe!”
She began ripping at the thin material covering her. Even the slightest touch of the fabric was an irritant to her skin. With a growl, she pressed herself against Cristophe, mindless that he was her enemy and captor. She needed to feel skin on skin or face dying a terrible death.
“Touch me, Cristophe,” she begged, almost sobbing. The tips of her nipples were reddened and throbbing, while her breasts swelled to twice their normal size. Her skin stretched from the swelling and her pussy quivered as juices dribbled from her passage, slicking the way. less