Page 37 of The Thren's Fated

“What? And let the commander keep you all to himself? He’s the reason we can’t return home, the reason I must suffer without my mate. The least he could do is let us borrow his little pet…”

The Thren chuckled lightly, squeezing one of her breasts, his arms and tentacles wrapped tightly around her.

Lena yelped, unable to stop herself, her eyes darting to meet Screl’s.

Oh, no.

In a flash, Screl was at her side, practically knocking over the Thren he was speaking to and letting out a vicious roar. The seated officer jumped up, knocking her off his lap, though Screl caught her with unnatural speed, righting her gently before turning his attention elsewhere.

“I made it clear, no touching,” Screl hissed, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

“I-I am sorry,” the officer stammered, holding his hands up in a show of innocence. “It was an accident. I-I don’t know what came over me!”

He trembled as Screl circled a large hand around his neck, holding him in place before raising a fist and bringing it down with a sickening crunch. The male immediately crumpled to the floor with his tentacles curled in tight to his back, and Screl kicked hard, the fallen Thren letting out a terrible groan.

Lena’s stomach twisted, guilt and disgust filling her at the wanton acts of violence, at the fact that she was the reason it was happening. Before Screl could land another blow, she stepped forward, grasping his arm as tears streamed down her face.

“Stop!” she cried, and he flipped around, his eyes flashing with hatred.

The entire room froze for a few long moments, Screl’s chest heaving as he stared down at her. Low moans emitted from the officer on the floor, but otherwise there was only hushed silence.

With a final glare, Screl picked Lena up, throwing her over his shoulder, and she didn’t fight him, letting him carry her out of the room as Dronzal followed closely behind.

CHAPTER 13

Screl placed Lena on her feet as they entered her room, closing the door behind him before Dronzal could follow them inside, making it clear the other Thren was not welcome.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, his voice a low growl.

Lena trembled, though from fear or exhilaration, she couldn’t tell, her racing mind suspiciously empty as she sat on the edge of the mattress. All she knew was that she was grateful Screl had stopped before he’d seriously harmed his officer, anticipation shivering up her spine as he stalked over to the bed.

There was a growl rumbling in his chest, a deep, animalistic sound that made her body clench with need, every nerve alight with flames. His tentacles surged over his shoulders and around his sides, and she wanted to feel them again, wanted him despite her better judgement.

A shocked cry escaped her lips as two tentacles whipped around her neck and pulled her flush with the mattress. Clawed hands gripped fistfuls of her dress and tore it without a second thought, exposing her flushed skin.

Screl traced a finger down the center of her body, sending a shiver down her spine as she squirmed, simultaneously aroused and alarmed by what was happening. Would he bruise her, make her bleed? She yearned to feel the sharp glint of pain against her skin, the scratch of his claws sending heated pulses to her core.

“You are mine, Lena,” he muttered, as if in a daze. “You belong to me.”

She stared up at him wordlessly, eager to see what he’d do next. Some part of her enjoyed being so bare, so helpless, and she silently begged for him to stay instead of leaving like he’d done before.

“Say it,” he continued, leaning over so he was inches from her face.

“S-Say what?”

“Do not play games with me, little pet. Be a good girl and tell me you belong to me. You are mine and mine alone,” he said, his words reverberating through her despite the quiet timbre of his voice.

“I-I belong to you,” she said. “I’m yours.”

His tentacles enveloped her body as if she were a spark igniting the flames of his passion, one wrapping tightly around her neck, another petting her hair, and the last two swirling around her breasts.

Lena whimpered as he squeezed her nipple with the tapered tip of a tentacle, reflexively arching her back into his touch. She brushed her fingers against the appendage around her neck, and he groaned in response.

“You are my little plaything,” he purred, raking his fingers down her sides. “Mine to pleasure. Mine to wound.”

She wriggled in his grasp, eliciting another low groan from the male towering over her. Screl leaned forward, pink tongues extruding from his mouth and licking across his fangs.

It was impossible to stifle her moans as the tongues brushed over her body, licking furious circles around her breasts and across her stomach. When he deftly encircled her nipples, the wetness against her delicate skin was too much, and she writhed and whimpered, to his obvious delight.