The Touch of Demise │18+

14: Tell Me You Don't Want Me

𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄

In all his long, excruciating existence, he never believed he had a destined mate. Lycanthropes suspected it, other Primus expected it.

Never him.

He never expected it, nor desired it. Maybe it was because his personality didn't exactly scream romantic lover. Maybe it was because he felt like he was far too fucked up. Maybe it was because he never thought the universe would grant a horrible man like him the privilege.

He wasn't kind.

He wasn't a lover.

He wasn't happy.

He wasn't safe.

There was no doubt in his dark and gloomy mind that she deserved better.

But it was no secret that above all else - above every other awful fucking trait of his - Demise was selfish. He should let her run, let her hide, and let her live a life without him.

Fuck that. Perhaps his thoughts would have been different if he knew that she truly didn't want him - if she had pushed herself away from him before she knew what he was to her. But he knew that she ached for this touch and that she wanted to be utterly ravished by him.

She begged for it at one point.

Yes, he was selfish, mean, and dangerous. Yes, he was unsafe and a fighter at heart. But he was also intelligent, and incredibly, he felt like he knew her far better than she knew herself.

His affection wasn't what she ran from. She ran because he was her mate.

Unadulterated rage consumed him the more he thought about it. She didn't run because she didn't want him; she ran because she felt she didn't deserve him.

She ran because no male deserved a sick mate.

There were two emotions he felt regularly; rage and desire. Never was there a moment of peace - a fraction of happiness within him. Anger consumed him and filled his lungs until he felt like he couldn't breathe.

Even when he lusted, he could feel the madness in his veins. When she made her presence in his life, he only ever wanted her; she was his greatest desire.

He desired her in a way no one could imagine, and he felt rage in a way no one could believe. If he could not satiate one, he would damn well indulge in the other.

Before he even realized what he was doing, the cold air of the winter season hit him in the face. The cold didn't bother him; it didn't bother most lycanthropes. They were naturally warm-blooded creatures. Of course, for Grace, it was a different story.

She must be cold, he mused.

The way into the town was lined with trees that had lost their leaves. Now they were bare and swayed, creating an eery sound. The way to her cabin was through the woods, past the large car garage, and beside the field of grass.

He knew immediately which way she had gone. There were footprints in the soil, and her scent was far stronger, leading into the woods. Even if these signs were nonexistent, he knew she'd go where she felt safest - her cottage.

He was quick to catch up to her. She must have run out of breath pretty soon because she was stopped in the middle of the forest, taking deep breaths. She was crying. He could smell it. He could hear her sniffle.

It fortified what he already thought.

"Grace."

She must not have heard him come close to her because she jumped and turned around with big, doe, tear-filled eyes. For once, another emotion stunned him for the briefest second.

Sadness.

"Demise," she whimpered, shaking her head. "I can't–"

He advanced toward her, gripping her arm as she made an effort to turn away. "No," he growled. "If you don't want me as a mate, say that. Tell me, you don't want me. Tell me I'm not good enough for you. Tell me–"

"I can't!"

"I know," he responded a calm voice this time - barely above a whisper. His eyes softened for her. She would be the only person he'd ever hope to be gentler for. He watched as her eyes flickered. Her lips parted and then shut like she wanted to say something but was hesitant. He stayed silent, knowing she'd make up her mind eventually.

"You deserve better," she muttered, lowering her eyes with guilt. "You deserve a mate of worth. I'm not that. No male, let alone you, should be stuck with me as a mate."

His hand grabbed her neck. He pulled her closer to him. His arm wrapped around her waist as he bent over her. She had to lean back from his height, but he held her effortlessly. He knew she was barely on the tips of her toes as his lips neared hers. "Such a pretty mouth shouldn't say such awful things."

He could hear her heart speed up and her breath hitch in her chest. He smiled at her, watching as her cheeks took a lovely shade of red. He felt her tiny hands push his chest, and under other circumstances, he wouldn't have let her go.

He released her and she turned around, walking away from him again. "I don't want pups."

"Good," he responded, following behind her. He knew she was trying to change his mind. In no way would anything she said change the fact that she was his. "I don't want to share you."

She stopped and faced him again with a shocked expression. "Every Primus needs an heir."

"Every male needs their mate more."

"I won't live as long as long as you."

"I'll die with you."

"I get sick a lot."

"I'll take care of you."

She was walking backward and was naturally clumsy, so when she stepped on a loose log, she went tumbling backward. He was fast, though - faster than all lycans, stronger too. He caught her waist, bringing them closer again.

"You should let go of me."

"Never, Grace. Stop fighting me. You can walk away from me, you can say you don't want me, you can do whatever you think would work, but I promise you I will find you, and I will always be in your life."