Sugarlitics

Alpha Derrick's long life plan was to kill that traitor that destroyed his family as well as everyone in his lineage for revenge.

But he couldn't.

Not when that blue eyed boy made his heart race faster than it ever could.

Not when his hands refused to stay off his body.

Not when he wants him constantly beneath him, moaning his name.

But what can he do when that blue-eyed boy is that traitors only son?
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“You're a monster,” Nathan spat, his eyes blazing with hatred as he took a step back.

Derrick's smile was cold and calculated as he moved forward step by step until Nathan was finally trapped between himself and the wall with nowhere to run. 

He could hear Nathan's heartbeat skyrocket in his chest, and his smile widened. “Oh, is that so?” he drawled. “But you sure as hell didn't think so when you were screaming my name, did you?”

Derrick's hands slid down Nathan's chest, his fingers tracing the curves of his body. He could feel him react and shiver to his touch. Nathan's eyes flashed with anger, but Derrick could see the desire burning beneath.

His lips brushed against Nathan's ear, his breath hot and sensual. Nathan moaned involuntarily, but Derrick heard it and his smile grew wider.

“There, just like that,” Derrick whispered, his voice low and husky. “Let me hear you scream out the name of the man you hate.”

The Enemy’s Son (BL)

I was making my way back to my room, ready to call it a night when I heard a sudden commotion. Frowning, I turned toward the hallway where the noise was coming from—confused and alert. That's when I saw him.

Before I could even process what was happening, a deafening gunshot split the air—and Nathan dropped to the ground.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked past him, already boiling with rage at whoever dared to shoot him. And then I saw her.

My frown deepened as I rushed toward Nathan. As I drew closer, I realized he was slipping out of consciousness.

"Get the healer!" I barked, rage lacing my voice as I knelt beside him. Without a second thought, I lifted his limp body into my arms. His blood—thick and dark—trailed behind us as I carried him to my chambers. It poured from the wound in his thigh, soaking into my sleeves and dripping onto the floor.

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