Chapter 1: The Wolf King Appears

Suddenly, a pair of strong hands suddenly wrapped around her, pulling her into a powerful embrace. Her arms were held firmly, and before she could react, she was gently but swiftly drawn into the safety of a large cave. As she adjusted to the new surroundings, she realized she was surrounded by a circle of werewolves—some in their human forms, others in their wolf forms.

Looking up, the one who held her had an intense, almost predatory gaze. His face was youthful yet full of authority, and the markings on his forehead marked him as the Wolf King.

The Wolf King looked down at her, his expression serious but filled with a strange allure. "I've got you now," he murmured.

He gave a signal to the pack, and then, with ease, lifted her in his strong arms, carrying her deeper into the cave. They passed various tunnels before entering a spacious chamber where slivers of sunlight streamed through the ceiling.

Before she could fully process her surroundings, she was gently placed on the ground, and the Wolf King restrained her hands above her head.

He looked at her with a mix of curiosity and admiration. "You're quite delicate," he said, his voice husky. His hand slid over her side in a tender gesture. "I’ll need to care for you."

She struggled, but quickly realized that her strength was no match for his. He lowered his head, his face brushing against her neck as he inhaled deeply. "Your scent..." he whispered, his lips lightly grazing her skin as he slowly moved from her neck to her collarbone, as though savoring the moment.

Her heartbeat quickened in response to his touch, her breath shallow as her body reacted against her will. She felt his presence, his strength, and something deeper—something she couldn't explain. He lifted his head and looked at her, his piercing silver-gray eyes locked onto hers, filled with intensity.

He ran a hand down her arm, then slowly, almost reverently, down her side, as if trying to memorize every curve. The moment was charged, and though part of her wanted to resist, a part of her was drawn to him. He was the Wolf King—wild and untamed—but there was something undeniably magnetic about him. His touch was both firm and gentle, a contradiction that seemed to pull her in deeper.

His hands continued to explore her, and she could feel the tension building. Her body responded involuntarily, though she couldn’t understand why. The Wolf King seemed to enjoy her reactions, his eyes darkening with each movement. He murmured something in her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

When at last his hand lifted, she felt a fragile relief—only for it to vanish the moment his lips replaced his touch. His mouth was warm, teasing, wickedly skilled. She couldn’t hold back the shiver, nor the faint tremor in her voice: “Wait…”

He looked up, amused. “Wait?” he echoed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your body says otherwise.” Then he returned to his task, undeterred, his every movement a slow seduction. “If a wolf doesn’t release while in heat, his body starts to shift... barbs form inside. You wouldn’t want to face that, would you?” His silver eyes held hers, darkening with something primal.

"You’ll need time to adjust," he said softly, his voice now tinged with an unspoken promise. "But I’ll take it slow with you." His tone was not commanding, but rather understanding, as though he, too, felt the strange pull between them.

The Wolf King entered her slowly, his breath ragged as though restraining something immense. She gasped softly, her body trembling under the pressure and fullness she’d never experienced before. His every motion was deliberate, as if each movement carried weight and meaning.

Their eyes didn’t meet—hers were tightly shut, yet she could still feel the heat of his gaze tracing every change in her expression. The overwhelming sensation of being filled made her chest tighten, and her breath caught in her throat.
Though she acted reluctant, a strange heat stirred inside her. She had to pretend to resist—pretend she didn’t want this—but the truth grew harder to hide with every breath.

Gradually, his hands left her wrists and moved to her chest, where they caressed her gently but firmly. She felt his calloused fingers explore her softness, syncing with the slow rhythm of his body, like a courtship of touch and breath.

As his pace grew more urgent, his hands gripped her waist with a possessive strength, as though grounding her in the moment. Her limbs were weak beneath her, yet she did not resist. When he lifted her leg, adjusting their angle, the shift sent a new wave of sensation through her. Every motion was deep, grounding her more in his presence than in pain or thought.

Eventually, he paused and gently turned her over. Her cheek pressed to the cold stone floor of the cave, but her body still burned with unfamiliar warmth. Before she could gather her breath, he returned to her with a passion that left no space for words. His low voice brushed her ear, commanding yet intimate.

“Raise your hips.”

She didn’t respond—couldn’t—but he adjusted her gently, his movements unrelenting. His breath was hot against her skin, and the echoing rhythm of his body moved through the cave like a tide.

“Still speaking? Then you can still endure,” he whispered, as though teasing her spirit into yielding.

Her thoughts scattered. Her body could no longer distinguish resistance from yearning. He moved between fast and slow, fierce and tender, until she felt herself dissolve into the rhythm he set.

Then, without warning, a wave surged through her—blinding, electric. Her body quaked as he released within her, a groan of satisfaction escaping his lips, like thunder easing into silence.

He withdrew slowly, his features softening as the beastly markings faded, revealing a handsome man once more—wild, yet striking. Lifting her gently, he carried her to the pool at the side of the cave. Warm water caressed her skin, and she finally exhaled.

“I’ll clean myself,” she said, cheeks flushed.

“You’re mine,” he replied with a crooked smile. “What part haven’t I touched?”

Without waiting, he took the cloth and began to wash her. She tried to squirm away, but he caught her wrists and gently drew her back. His touch was deliberate, teasing, and when his lips found her again, it wasn’t lust—it was possession.

To be continued...

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