Chapter 1: The Wet Crybaby
The den door, a heavy slab of weathered timber, swung inward with a groan that was drowned by the raucous laughter from the main hall. Megumi stumbled through the opening, propelled by a rough shove between her shoulder blades. She hit the layered furs of the floor with a soft thud, her naked skin prickling against the unfamiliar texture.
“A gift for the alpha,” Kashimo’s voice grated from the doorway, thick with mean-spirited pride.
Megumi couldn’t look up. She drew her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible, but the action only made her full breasts press together and spill over her thighs. She trembled, a violent, whole-body shudder that made the soft black fur along her spine quiver. Her long, floppy ears were plastered flat against her skull, trailing in the dirt. Tears fell fast and hot, plopping silently onto the dark fur beneath her.
The air in Sukuna’s den was different. Warmer. It smelled of smoke, of male musk, of earth and power. It was cavernous, the ceiling lost in shadows, the walls lined with the ghostly scratches of claws and scattered bones that spoke of a hunter’s tenure. In the center, a low fire pit glowed, painting everything in pulses of orange and deep gold.
And in that shifting light, he was watching her.
Sukuna lay sprawled on a massive pile of pelts, one knee up, an arm slung over it. The firelight danced over the corded muscle of his chest and abdomen, glinting off the intricate tattoos that curled around his shoulders and down his powerful arms. His own fur was a deep, shadowy black, and his tail—thick and bushy—gave a single, slow flick. But it was his eyes that pinned her. Red, like banked coals, they tracked the tremble in her thighs, the frantic rise and fall of her chest, the tears cutting tracks through the pink blush of her cheeks.
“What is this?” Sukuna’s voice was a low rumble, a vibration in the stone.
“Found her nibbling clover at the eastern ridge. Scrawny little thing, but look at her.” Kashimo stepped further in, his wolfish frame blocking the light. He gestured at Megumi with a clawed hand. “She’s perfect. No fight in her. We can pass her around, break her in proper. A free-use hole for the pack. Good for morale.”
The words, so crude and final, shattered something in Megumi’s chest. A thin, wounded sound escaped her—a whimper trapped in a sob. She squeezed her large green eyes shut, but the tears just came faster, her shoulders shaking.
Sukuna moved.
It was no casual shift. It was a fluid uncoiling of immense power. He rose from the furs, his height momentarily blotting out the fire as he crossed the space in three silent strides. He didn’t look at Kashimo. His entire focus was on the tiny, weeping creature on his floor.
“Out.” The word was a soft growl, but it cracked through the den like a whip.
Kashimo stiffened. “Alpha, she’s just a bunny. A toy.”
“I said out.” Sukuna didn’t raise his voice. He simply turned his head, and the full force of his alpha glare landed on his second. The red in his eyes seemed to shimmer. “All of you. Clear the hall. Seal the door.”
The tension thickened, tasting of challenge and damp fur. For a heartbeat, Kashimo held his ground, his own yellow eyes narrowing, the scar across his snout pulling taut. Then he dipped his head, a shallow, submissive motion that didn’t reach his eyes. “As you say.”
The timber door thudded shut, leaving a profound silence broken only by the pop of the fire and Megumi’s ragged, hitching breaths.
Alone with her, Sukuna slowly crouched. He was so enormous. Even on his haunches, he loomed over her, his shadow enveloping her completely. Megumi flinched, curling tighter, waiting for the grasp, the bite, the pain.
It didn’t come.
A single clawed finger, blunt and careful, touched her chin. The contact was startlingly gentle. He applied the faintest pressure, urging her face up. She resisted, terror freezing her muscles.
“Look at me, little bunny.” The rumble was quieter now, a private sound.
She couldn’t disobey. Her eyes, glassy with tears, peeled open. She saw his face up close—the sharp planes, the dark fur, the ferocious intelligence in those burning red eyes. He studied her tears as if they were a puzzle. With the same claw, he caught one as it slid down her cheek. He held it up, watching it gleam on the tip of his black talon.
Her whole body was on display for him, and she knew it. The perky swell of her breasts, the puffy nipples pebbled tight from fear and the cool air, the soft curve of her belly, the chubby press of her thighs. She felt utterly, devastatingly exposed.
“They want to share you,” Sukuna murmured, his gaze finally leaving her tear to travel slowly, possessively, down the length of her shivering form. A low growl built in his chest, a sound of pure, displeased dominance. “They see a hole. A warm, pretty hole to use.”
He leaned closer. His heat washed over her, and his scent—wild, spicy, overwhelmingly male—filled her lungs. Megumi’s breath caught.
“I don’t.” His voice dropped to a raw, intimate whisper. “I see a mate.”
Her doe eyes flew wide, confusion cutting through the terror.
“You’re mine,” he stated, the words absolute, etched in stone. “Mine alone. No other touch will ever soil this skin.” His thumb, huge and warm, stroked once over the tear-track on her cheek, a gesture so at odds with his fearsome appearance it left her dizzy. “Do you understand?”
Megumi could only stare, her mind blank, her lips parted. She understood the words, but their meaning was too vast, too terrifyingly specific to grasp.
Sukuna didn’t demand an answer. He simply watched her, the hunger in his eyes transforming into something more complex, more patient. The adoration he felt was a fierce, guarding thing. He wanted her, desperately. The proof of it was evident in the tense line of his body, in the way his tail had gone perfectly still. But the whimper she’d made, the tears—they had forged a boundary in him he would not cross.
He would have her. But he would have her begging for it, consent a whispered plea against his lips, not a sob of fear.
Outside, in the darkened hall, Kashimo leaned against the sealed door, his ear almost to the grain. He heard nothing but the faint crackle of fire. His lip curled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. The alpha had gone soft. A toy was a toy. And that tender, crying little bunny was too sweet a prize to be hoarded by one.
He pushed off from the door and melted into the shadows of the tunnel, plans already beginning to coil, viper-tight, in his mind.