Page 145 of Lord of the Lone Wolf
“Maybe if you’d shown us actual kindness instead of possessive abuse, things would have been different,” Maseo said. “But you chose cruelty every single time. You hurt us instead of loving us.”
“I was honest about what you were,” Kio snarled. “I didn’t fill your heads with pretty lies about being worthy of love or deserving happiness. Instead, I told you the truth about your place in the world.”
His grip on the sword shifted, and Maseo realized with growing horror that Kio had been herding him right where the madman wanted him. Panic clawed at Maseo’s heart when his back hit the wall. Where were the castle guards?
Kio moved close enough that Maseo almost gagged from the disgusting odor of neglect. “I’ll enjoy breaking you until you beg me to kill you. And when I’m done, I’ll find Auslin and Kitsuki to do the same to them.”
“You’re insane if you think you can touch them,” Maseo spat, though fear churned in his stomach. Without Kitsuki’s protective magic or a weapon and weakened by the necromancy, Maseo was running out of options.
“Am I?” Kio’s smile was that of a predator about to kill its prey. “How do you think they’ll feel when they find your broken body? Will it destroy them to know they failed to protect you?”
The casual cruelty of Kio’s words and how he intended to use Maseo’s death as a weapon against the people he cherished ignited a fierce desperation in the half-wolf shifter’s chest. “You won’t get the chance.”
“Oh, but I will.”
Maseo tried to twist away when Kio thrust the sword at him, but his injured body failed him. The blade pierced his shoulder with a wet, tearing sound, driving deep enough to scrape against bone before the tip embedded in the stone wall behind him.
Torment blazed through Maseo’s body. Each desperate attempt to free himself sent jagged lightning bolts of pain through the wound. Blood cascaded down his chest, the crimson stain spreading across his shirt like spilled wine.
“There we go,” Kio breathed, his face inches from Maseo’s as he leaned in close. His breath reeked of rot and neglect, the stench of a man who had lived in his own filth for the past year. “Now, you can’t run away from me anymore.”
Maseo’s vision swam, the edges of the world dissolving into gray mist as blood loss and shock took their toll. He fought against the encroaching darkness with everything he had. He had to stay awake and believe someone would come.
“I’ve waited for this for so long,” Kio continued, his free hand tracing along Maseo’s jawline with gentle fingers. His breathing quickened, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow despite the cool air of the corridor. “I’ve spent so many nights in that filthy cell, my cock hard from fantasizing about having you under me again at my mercy.”
“Get away from me,” Maseo gasped, trying to turn from Kio’s touch, the contact making his skin crawl as if maggots were burrowing beneath the surface.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Kio’s grip tightened to a crushing force, his fingers digging into Maseo’s jaw. His hips shifted forward, pressing against Maseo’s thigh with unmistakable arousal.“You’ve always been mine, no matter how far you tried to run or who you tried to hide behind. My property. My possession.”
The hand on Maseo’s face wandered lower, his fingers trailing down his throat with possessive intent, leaving a path of violated skin in their wake. Maseo struggled against the sword pinning him, but the movement only drove the blade deeper into his shoulder. The searing violation of metal through flesh made him shout, the sound tearing from his throat like a wounded animal.
“Yes,” Kio hissed, his pupils dilated with desire at Maseo’s suffering. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he pressed closer, his arousal responding to each cry of pain. “I’ve been starving for that sound. I used to make you scream until your voice gave out, remember?”
“Stop,” Maseo said through gritted teeth, but Kio only laughed.
“Why? We’re only getting started.” His hand moved to Maseo’s chest, fingers splaying over his heart. Kio’s breath came in short, excited pants, his body trembling with anticipation. “By the time I’m done, you’ll be begging for my dick again.”
Maseo’s struggles grew more desperate as Kio’s intentions became clear, but the sword through his shoulder made any meaningful resistance impossible. His strength drained away with each drop of blood that splattered onto the stone floor.
“Do you know what I missed most about you?” Kio asked, as if they were sharing a drink instead of holding him captive with a blade. He shifted his weight again, grinding against Maseo’s hip with a small groan of pleasure. “The way you trembled when I touched you, because you were so desperate for any scrap of affection I might throw your way.”
“I didn’t know any better,” Maseo said, his voice weak but defiant.
“Wrong,” Kio corrected, ripping Maseo’s tunic open. “Deep down, you knew what you were getting into. But you didn’t care because you were desperate to belong to someone.”
Maseo’s gaze fixed on a point beyond Kio’s shoulder, a defensive technique he’d perfected because of his father by being present enough to brace for the pain but absent enough to survive it.
“What have we here? It looks like someone else marked what belongs to me.” Kio peeled off an edge of the bandage on Maseo’s ribs, a soft moan escaping his lips at the sight of the necrotic wound beneath. He fingered the exposed wound, sending pain lancing through Maseo’s body. The necromancy responded to Kio’s touch; the blackness seemed to reach toward his fingers as if recognizing a kindred darkness. “Whoever fucked you up did a beautiful job of it. I’m jealous.”
Maseo bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, using the self-inflicted pain to distract from the agony radiating from the wound. He would not give Kio the satisfaction of hearing him cry out again.
Disappointed with the lack of reaction, Kio moved on. “Look at all these beautiful scars. Each tells a story of someone who owned a piece of you. I remember making this one,” he said, pressing against a nasty mark on Maseo’s chest. He dug his nail into the sensitive tissue until fresh blood welled, then dragged it along the length of the scar. The scent of his arousal turned Maseo’s stomach. “That’s from when you tried to leave me the first time. Remember? You thought you could walk away from me, but I taught you better.”
Maseo’s stomach roiled with revulsion and memory. “You almost killed me.”
“I was teaching you a lesson,” Kio corrected, licking the blood he had drawn with a satisfied growl. The wet heat of his tongue against the reopened scar made bile rise in Maseo’s throat. “A lesson you apparently didn’t learn well enough, since here we are again.”
His hand moved to the scar on Maseo’s stomach, tracing it with a touch that was almost reverent in its cruelty. “This one was from when I caught you talking to that tavern boy. What was his name? Martus? Markin?”
