Rogue Attack

Layleen

I stand before the tall mirror in the center of my room, my pale silver eyes vacantly tracing my reflection.

There's nothing particularly remarkable about my appearance today. A maid brought in a new set of clothes that Dion bought specifically for this occasion, but honestly, despite the supposed importance of the outfit, I have dresses that are far more flattering than this one.

It's a long, black lace dress with loose sleeves that drape over my arms, hiding the scars etched into my skin. A thin, soft leather belt cinches around my waist, gently accentuating my subtle curves. To be honest, I look as though I'm about to attend a funeral.

And I certainly feel like that's the case.

I place my right hand over my lower belly, exhaling a heavy sigh. Last night, Dion took me again and again, his fiery passion still burning within me. After he left, I spent a restless night, my thoughts consumed by the inevitable departure that awaits me.

Somehow, Dion convinced me everything would be fine, and foolishly, I believed him.

No, he's right. He never acts without a hidden agenda. Dion is cunning and brilliant—there's no way he sold me off to Alpha Robert without some kind of plan in place. He loves me. He proved it last night.

He loves me.

I repeat those words like a mantra as I walk toward the main entrance of the packhouse, where a car is already waiting for me.

A black SUV—how utterly mundane. I stop at the threshold, unwilling to take another step, as if crossing it will transport me straight to hell. Somehow, my instincts scream that it will.

There's no one here to see me off. Not even Alpha Dion. When I asked the maid if he was going to say goodbye, she simply shook her head and spat out, rather rudely, "Alpha and Luna are out on business today. They left before dawn."

Abandoned. Once again, just like ten years ago, I'm discarded like a worthless mutt.

He loves me, I keep telling myself. No one else can have me.

"Morning, sweetheart," Alpha Robert practically sings the words, and I wince. The pet name sounds more like an insult when it comes from his lips. "You look rather tired. Rough night?"

He winks at me knowingly, and my skin crawls as his hand rests on the small of my back, guiding me into the car. It's infuriating. I hate it when others touch me.

I try to mask my disgust, shifting to the farthest corner of the backseat. But then, a familiar scent hits my nostrils, and my eyes widen in surprise.

"Sheryl?"

I blink several times, as though trying to shake the image of the woman sitting opposite me. She lounges casually, her long, slender fingers tracing the rim of a champagne flute in her hand.

She eyes me with an expression tinged with annoyance, the corners of her lips twitching as she struggles to suppress her emotions.

Sheryl is Dion's second mistress. Second after me. Though, at times, I can't help but think she deserves the top spot.

Sheryl is stunning. Incredibly tall and slender, yet her body still curves in all the right places. Her face, sharp and angular, radiates a powerful, possessive aura, while her dark hazel eyes gleam with a hypnotic glint.

Today, she looks as breathtaking as ever. She wears a short black leather dress that clings tightly to her body, accentuating her figure. Her long, straight brown hair is pulled into a tight bun, with the rest of it cascading down her back like smooth, flowing silk.

When she clears her throat, a clear sign of irritation, I realize I've been staring at her too openly. Embarrassed, I quickly avert my gaze, ignoring Alpha Robert's voice as he orders the driver to start the car.

I want to know why Sheryl is here, too, but the fear of asking keeps me silent. Sheryl hates me, probably as much as Katarine does, though I don't understand why. After all, Dion sleeps with her more often than he does with me, and she's always the one sitting next to him in meetings with other alphas.

She is his trophy, while I am his favorite.

Alpha Robert shifts closer, his bulky arm snaking around my waist and pulling me against him. His rancid breath fills my nose, almost suffocating, as he whispers in my ear, "Why so tense? Want me to help you relax?"

Before I can respond, his large hands are already massaging my shoulders. The sharp, painful pressure under his touch only confirms that I'm as stiff as a board.

I feel Robert's gaze piercing me like needles, his scent growing stronger as his wolf claws at the surface, eager to break free. Smoke and burnt sugar—perhaps his true mate might find that scent appealing, but right now, it's making me feel nauseous.

I try to recoil, desperate to escape the suffocating stench, but his grip tightens on my shoulders, pulling me even closer. His lips are almost brushing my neck as he hisses, "Don't give me attitude, whore." The words send a cold shiver down my spine as I swallow hard. I can now hear the low growl of his wolf, a sound that only amplifies my unease. "You're mine now. The sooner you accept that, the better. For your own sake."

His hot, clammy hand slides under my dress, and a bone-crushing shiver racks my body. He presses his nose to the skin of my neck, inhaling deeply. His growl deepens. "I can't wait until I shove my cock inside you. I really want to know what's so special about you that Alpha Dion favors you over his own Luna. You know..."

Robert shifts his gaze to Sheryl, who has been watching us intently, her champagne flute now empty. He continues, "With both of you sitting here, I'm dying for a threesome. But I can hold off. I want to try you first, Layleen. Oh, you have no idea how much fun I'll have with you."

He twirls a lock of my wavy silver hair around his fingers, pulling it forward so I can see it too. "I'll fill you with so much cum. And when your pretty little hole is overflowing, I'll cover you—your skin will match the color of your hair."

I feel my stomach churn. My blood runs cold, and the world around me begins to spin. I know he isn't joking, and the thought of it makes me want to throw open the car door and leap out, secretly hoping the speed will be my salvation.

I lock my eyes with Sheryl, my expression is practically begging her for help, but she only smirks and refills her glass, gracefully bringing it to her pouty lips as if enjoying my silent torment. 

Of course, why would she help me? Just like Katarine, she wants to see me suffer. 

I gasp as Alpha Robert's hand is now between my legs, his thick fingers sliding over the thin fabric of my underwear. He peppers my neck with kisses, and before I can try and move away, he grabs my right hand and places it on his crotch. 

He is hard. I can feel the veins of his erection pulsating, but unlike with Dion, it only disgusts me. 

Moving my hand away, Robert unzips his pants, and the next thing I feel is his bare flesh forced under the palm of my hand. Grabbing a fistful of my hair from the back of my head, he pushes my face down to his member, his words dripping with malice. 

"Go on, suck it. I just can't wait anymore."

My mouth goes dry, and I feel pain just parting my lips. I have seen a fair share of cocks in my life, but this one takes the prize. The prize in the ugliest dick competition. 

I use all my power to resist his push, but he is stronger, so he shoves my head even lower, forcing his member between my lips. 

The urge to use my teeth is so strong that it takes me quite an effort to suppress the desire to bite that thing off. I can't fight––Dion knows what he is doing, and I have to play my part. I hate it, but I have to endure it. 

So I force myself to relax my mouth, but I can't move. Robert sees that and pushes my head down, and I instantly choke on his cock. He groans somewhat prematurely and then pulls my head by the hair; the burning pain forces me to comply and move on my own. 

Even his taste is repulsive. A few more minutes and I will definitely cover his dick with my vomit. 

But I don't have to. 

Suddenly, the driver swerves abruptly, and I am flung onto the car's floor. The car stops, and the car following us from behind bumps right into us, sending Sheryl down as well. 

"What the fuck?!" Robert yells at the driver. He hit his head on the door, and I can see a thin trail of blood running down the side of his face. "Josh, what the fuck did you do that for?!"

"Rogues," the driver replies quietly, "it's a rogue attack."