Homelands Pt. 10 Ch. 04

"If that's supposed to make it even harder for me to wait until I get to meet her, mission accomplished," Yvette said.

She wasn't even sure if she was just playing along or actually being sincere.

Either way, at the moment, her best bet was to pretend that she was drawn in by it all. The tips of a few fingers brushed a tuft of arm hair. When he didn't recoil, she got more adventurous. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt up the oversized killing machine. How many lives had those claws ended? How windpipes had been crushed by his jaws?

"Am I really supposed to settle for you in the meantime?"

Without warning, he spun her around and slammed her against the wall. Hard. Maybe even too hard, though she'd been looking for just such a reaction. The wind had been knocked out of her, her back stung fiercely, and tears welled in her eyes.

The look on his face made it all worth it. There was such intensity there. And primal rage, the likes of which even his massive form could not contain. He was going to absolutely ravage her, and it would be like nothing she'd ever experienced. Part of her wanted to cry. But Bad Yvette was as excited as she'd ever been. And she couldn't help feeling that the smart thing to do was let that part of her take over until he was through with her.

"My room?" she asked breathlessly.

A wet, sloppy tongue licked her from chin to forehead. He left slobber all over her face. It was disgusting. Yet it didn't stop her pussy from aching for him.

Then, without a word, he dropped to all fours and loped off.

His humanoid body didn't seem designed for such movement, but his arms elongated and his hands became just a little more like paws. Though she didn't think he was moving at top speed, Yvette had trouble keeping up with him.

It got a little better after they emerged from the dark, though. The labyrinthine system of passageways soon gave way to a gorgeous palace formed from pure ice rising up and out of the mountainside. Once there, Yvette had no trouble seeing. In fact, she was almost blinded by the bright sun, surrounded as she was by reflective surfaces.

The blinding light and her brother's fast pace were but two of the reasons she didn't get to take it all in as much as she'd have liked. The tower in which her room was located wasn't far from where they'd left the network of tunnels. That was too bad, because the translucent floors and walls made quite an architectural statement. To say nothing of the interior design consisting solely of ice sculptures and potted blue or white flowers.

Her queen-sized bed was neatly made, the pristine white covers drawn tight enough to bounce quarters off of. The furniture, upholstered in various shades of blue, was simple but nice. The adjoining bathroom was small and spartan. The room might have fit in any number of three star hotels, save for the floor and walls of solid ice. Well, and the lack of a TV. But that, she didn't mind nearly as much as the panoramic view of snow-covered mountains, white puffy clouds, and, more importantly, vast empty sky.

Now that she finally had a chance to stop and put her optic nerves to good use, she wished she was back in the dark tunnels. The floor-to-ceiling window in the cabin was nothing compared to this. It felt like a hand was clasped tight around her throat.

"Quite the view," Lance said, though he wasn't referring to the stunning skyscape behind him. Was he admiring her heaving chest or the extensive tattoos decorating it? It certainly wasn't her face that he was looking at with those cold blue eyes.

"That it is," she said, following his lead. The towering monster before her was far easier on the eyes than all that open air. He was so tall and lean, all muscle and fur. And teeth.

He was the archetypal predator. A true alpha. It didn't take much effort to convince herself that she ought to enjoy what was about to happen. Afterwards, she could try pushing Bad Yvette aside again. Remind herself that Zach was the one who might help her hold onto some small part of herself, whereas Lance offered nothing but corruption. But not until she found out what it was like to be savaged mercilessly by the magnificent beast before her.

As he stalked slowly towards her, hunched over to stare straight into her eyes, he snarled. It was a menacing sound that almost made her doubt that it was his cock he wanted to push inside her. Yvette was paralyzed with a fear and it was a wonder that she didn't piss herself.

For the longest time, they just stood there, holding each other's gaze. Deep blue eyes met pale, colorless ones. Save for the rise and fall of their chests, neither moved.

Then he struck her.

His backhanded slap sent her stumbling over to the bed. Yvette collapsed onto it, pressed a hand to her cheek, and hissed. The scratches he'd given her weren't too deep, but they stung. And were bleeding profusely. The tips of her fingers had acquired a deep red coat.

Just as she was about to turn over, he slammed one hand down on her back, pressing her flat against the mattress and knocking the breath out of her. The other raked down her back, tearing through skin and fabric alike. Yvette shrieked in pain and panic. But as he tore away the remnants of her top, she felt blood rush between her legs.

When he forced himself inside her, she nearly passed out. It hurt like nothing she'd ever felt before. But she the pain was laced with pleasure and she found herself wishing he'd take things up a notch by biting her. Sinking those sharp, yellowed fangs into her bare shoulder.

After a few hard thrusts, each of which made her gasp or grunt, he did just that.

It was glorious.

She howled in pain but nonetheless forced herself to tuck her head off to the side so he could drive the knives deeper in. Which he did. She felt a rush of endorphins flood her system as blood started streaming down her back. Even as the pain intensified, so too did the sense of euphoria. She felt queasy, lightheaded, weightless, and giddy.

His teeth withdrew. That long tongue of his lapped at her blood, leaving her skin pleasantly numb. Then he leaned all the forward, his chest pressing against the back of her head and his elbows singing into the covers at either side of her shoulders. Yvette felt so small beneath him. He covered her like a blanket. A warm, furry blanket.

Then she found out just how big he was.

It felt like he was aiming for her lungs.

Yvette cried out in agony. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her jaw began to ache from the strain of biting down so hard. But the ratio of pain to pleasure crept slowly in the right direction. She grew more and more comfortable with his massive size each time he surged forward. After a while, it felt so good she begged him to fuck her harder, even if brief flash of searing pain accompanied every thrust. Her inner walls clung to him. Squeezed him. Massaged him. And she reached down to frig her clit.

She nearly blacked out a few times, but over the course of the next hour or two, her father showed her what sex was. Real sex, not the pale imitation she'd been settling for up until then. He stretched her so wide she thought her vadge might rip open, chomped down on her calves and shoulders, and raked her back and breasts with his powerful claws. Along the way, she discovered how to bisect her mind so that she both felt and yet did not feel the pain, acquired a rudimentary ability to close wounds after they began to bleed too much, and learned how to coax her lover into orgasm more or less whenever she wanted. And she herself experienced one mind-shattering climax after another. She just couldn't stop cumming for her father. Not that she wanted to, of course.

Best of all, she borrowed an insane amount of power from him.

More than she thought she could hold, in truth. Though that barely had an effect on him. His Libido, as she learned to call the vessels within which they stored their energy, was vast. But even if what she'd siphoned off was but a drop in the bucket to him, it was enough to fill the oceans for her. When he finally rolled off her, wearing an ordinary body for the first time in a while, Yvette felt like she might explode.

"That was great," she said, looking over at him. His eyes were closed and he taking deep, slow breaths. Her wild wolf looked unbelievably peaceful now that she'd given her body to him. "Though I think we ruined my bed."

"Can't help that I shed," Lance replied.

Yvette smiled.

She meant the rips in the covers, cotton stuffing spilling out like viscera, and all the blood stains. But that was okay. Nothing she couldn't fix. Yvette snapped her fingers and the quilt repaired itself, without either of them needing to budge.

He rested the back of his hand against her abdomen. The light, casual touch wasn't remotely sensual, but it gave her chills all the same. Guys never touched her like that after using her as a cum dumpster. If they touched her at all, it was either a playful smack or perhaps attempt to initiate another round. If she was lucky. But here Lance was, creating a small connection between them just because. And he didn't look her in the eye, seeking approval, either. Her body belonged to him, in every sense of the word, and he knew it.

"The queen doesn't want anyone to know who their real parents are," he said. "When she lets her daughters give birth, she blindfolds them. Takes the baby away the moment it's born. Doesn't let the mother hold it or anything. Won't even tell her the child's sex."

"That's terrible," Yvette said.

That wasn't quite her idea of pillow talk, but she didn't mind. If that was his way of opening up to her, she'd take it for the compliment that it was.

He gave her the smallest of shrugs. "This way, we all feel connected to each other, and to her. If some of us knew that we weren't her children but merely her grandchildren, we might feel more connected to our parents. Who might, in turn, be tempted to let us get away with things they'd never tolerate from a sibling."

"I guess," she replied. It made a certain sense. But how paranoid did that make the queen? What made the queen think that a grandchild of hers would transgress in ways that those who were unsure whether she was their mother or grandmother would not?

"What I'm trying to say," Lance said, opening his eyes at long last, "is that I can't be sure I'm your father. You might be Quincy's. He's her absolute favorite. Or Brenton's, or Harold's, or who the fuck knows." A slow smile spread across his face and he tapped two fingers against his hairy chest. "But in here, I know you're mine."

"That's sweet," she said.

"Don't you feel it?" he asked.

Yvette sighed. "I don't know what I'm feeling." Her lips curved up. "But I like it."

He snorted. "Guess that'll do."

"Would I be your first?" she asked. "If I am yours?"

Lance frowned. "No."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like there was a right answer to that," Yvette said. "Besides the truth, that is. Was just curious."

"I've given the queen four children and Lena one other," he said in an apologetic tone. "Before you, that is," he added. "Assuming you really are ours."

"Could Zach be yours?" she asked. "You said the timelines matched up with me."

Lance nodded.

"Wow," Yvette said. "Six kids. And you don't even know who they are. That's crazy."

"I haven't been around that long," Lance said. "Quincy's fathered two dozen of her children. Most of which are long dead." He shrugged. "I might be one of 'em. Who knows."

"The dead ones?"

He gave her a wan smile. Men that handsome shouldn't be allowed to do such things. Just looking at it made her heart ache painfully. "When we're around the others, you're my sister," he said. "But so far as I'm concerned, you're my daughter."

Yvette rolled onto her side and rested a hand atop his perfect chest. He had such strong pectorals, and that thick tangle of dark hair drove her wild. She wanted to bury her face in it and savor the smell. His musk was weaker now that he'd let go of the wolfman form, but it had the same character and profile. She couldn't get enough of it.

"I can't think of anyone I'd rather call Daddy."

He grabbed her wrist. Hard. The pain momentarily blinded her. If he squeezed any tighter, her bones might crack. "Don't disappoint me," he said.

"I won't," Yvette sobbed.

"You're going to be strong like Lena. A snow leopard. Otherwise, the queen will dub you a hare, and we'll hunt you down for sport. I'll kill you myself, come to that."

"I know you will," she replied.

He relaxed his grip. "You did good back at the cabin. Better than your brother. I have faith in you. But you need to know that I won't show any mercy if you go soft."

Tears welled up in her eyes. Had she thought they were sharing a moment? That there could be anything between the two them after Bad Yvette had drank her fill and retreated to some dark corner of her mind? No, her father was a monster. Like she herself would need to be, if she wanted to fit in here. The only one she could trust, could open up to, was Zach.

If even him.

For all she knew, he'd already written her off as no different than their parents. And she couldn't even blame him if so. Not after what she'd done.

She couldn't cry. Not now. Not in front of her father, who'd just finished telling her that he wouldn't hesitate to kill her if he didn't think she was cut out to be a predator. Willing her eyes dry and her voice firm, she said, "Nor should you."

He regarded her skeptically for a time, then nodded.

Lest she leave him with any doubts, Yvette summoned four lengths of chain. Two anchored themselves to the wall and two to the floor by the foot of the bed. At the opposing ends were shackles that snapped shut around her father's wrists and ankles.

"Now," she said, climbing atop him, "let me show you what I expect from you."

He smiled as she guided his length inside her. Her fist in his mouth took care of that smarmy expression though. The left hook didn't quite connect with his eye socket as it should have, but it still left a nice bruise on his cheek.

He could break free of the restraints at any time. Or fight back with invisible fists. She knew that. But she also knew that he wouldn't spoil the fun. The semblance of constraint was more than enough for both of them.

"That's my girl," he said, flashing incredibly white teeth. Flecked with blood.

"Don't just lay there," Yvette said, working her hips furiously. Even wearing a man's body, he was huge. But the right kind of huge. He hardly hurt at all. "Give me that dick!"

He did. Soon enough, his cum too. And lots of energy. That time, she didn't return the favor. Not once did she cum for him. Or bleed for him. Or cry for him.

Not until he left. Then she let the tears flow freely.

"What's wrong?" a voice asked from outside her window.

Yvette leaned back from the pillow. "Zach? What are you doing here?" she asked.

Her brother stood outside the tower, where there was nothing to stand on. Or hadn't been when last she'd looked. It would only have surprised her so much if Zach had learned how to fly since she'd last seen him, but that wasn't what accounted for his presence outside her window. No, there was now an ice bridge spanning from her tower to the next one over where there'd been nothing but empty air before. And right before her eyes, the far end of it began to melt away, erasing all evidence of his misdeed.

"Come in, come in!" she said.

He gave her a thin smile then climbed through the window. But he asked what was wrong a second time before he'd even set foot on the ice below.

Perhaps unreasonably, that bothered her.

Maybe it was because it seemed to imply that he thought he was entitled to an explanation for every emotion she felt. Or because it sounded too much like he thought she'd dodged the question when in fact he'd hardly given her any time to answer. It might even have activated some latent fear that he was too insecure. Most men, particularly those who could have any woman they wanted, barely paid any attention to their partner's feelings. And while Yvette hardly considered such insensitivity a virtue, she couldn't help thinking that the only reason for a guy to be so thoroughly alarmed by the sight of puffy cheeks and red eyes was because he thought he was personally responsible for her happiness and feared that if he didn't bend over backwards to keep her smiling twenty-four seven, she'd lose all interest in him. She wanted a guy who was sweet and caring and thoughtful. Or wanted to want one, anyway. But she also needed one who was confident enough to know that her problems weren't always his, and who wouldn't be afraid to tell her when she was being a big baby. That she needed to be stronger if she was going to survive Winter. Someone like their father.

Except that wasn't it. What bothered her was that she wasn't sure she wanted to answer the question, and his repetition of it made clear that she was going to have to. She didn't know what the answer was, though. Didn't know how she felt. That was the whole problem.

"I...I feel like I'm at war with myself," she explained. "And I'm losing."

The look of concern on his face was painfully earnest. She wished he wouldn't do that. Wouldn't care so damn much. What made him think she was worth it anyway? Didn't he realize by now that there was a darkness inside of her?

"Why do you say that?" he asked, moving a little closer.

She wanted to punch him. Or have him wrap his arms around her and hold her tight while she sobbed some more. She wasn't sure which.

Why did boys have to make girls feel so complicated? And why did they have to expect a girl's feelings to be so simple, rational, and easy to explain? Just because none of them had more emotional range than a block of wood didn't mean everyone else was like that.

"Part of me thinks we made a big mistake coming here," Yvette began. She took a deep breath and exhaling slowly. "But another part of me is falling madly in love with our father and would anything he asked, no matter how terrible." The words spewed out of her mouth, as though she hoped their meaning wouldn't sink in if they poured over him too quickly.

"And that scares you," he said, veering enough towards uptalk that it almost sounded like a question. The look on his face, though, said that it wasn't. That he knew what she meant, and understood completely. Perhaps even felt the same.

"We should have killed the two of them instead of our friends," he said with a playful smile. As if he'd done any of the killing. They both knew perfectly well that there was only one monster in that room, but he seemed content to pretend otherwise.

"Probably," Yvette agreed, forcing a small grin.

Her brother, who still felt like a stranger, bent down and put a hand softly on her knee. Whether it was welcome or not, Yvette couldn't even have said. The longer it lingered, though, the more she leaned towards thinking it was.

And towards thinking he deserved to know exactly how conflicted she was.

"In the past hour, I've considered asking you to help me escape; resolved---twice---to stay, but only if you're willing to help keep me on track, since you never lost it the way I did back there; and asked myself whether I could prove I belong here by...killing you."

That last part took Zach by surprise, she knew, but he recovered quickly. His eyes went a bit wide and then he shook his head as if dismissing a strange thought that had come unbidden, but that was it. His hand never left her knee. Nor did it tighten its grip.

"I'm not kidding," she said.

"I believe you," he said with an awkward chuckle.

"Help me."

"Uh, yeah, not sure about that," he replied, standing up slowly. "I think I like me better alive, all things considered. But good luck with that."