Primal Desire

Name: Primal Desire
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

$alvatore

Werewolf | Ongoing

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Alex thought she had left the past behind-the nightmares, the blood, the thing that should have killed her but didn't. She built a life of normalcy, burying the truth in the silence of her own mind. But when she steps into the towering empire of Damon Stark, the enigmatic CEO with a presence as commanding as the night itself, normal begins to unravel. There is something about him-something that calls to her, pulls at her in ways she can't explain. A dangerous magnetism, a whisper of something ancient and untamed. But as her world begins to spiral, secrets rise from the shadows. A gruesome discovery. A devastating truth. A monster in the city, leaving carnage in its wake. And at the center of it all-Damon. As obsession and fate intertwine, Alex is drawn into a war older than time itself. A war where she is more than just a bystander. Where bloodlines, curses, and dark magic weave a destiny she never asked for. Because some monsters are born. Others are made. And some... are awakened.

Mystery Suspense Revenge Secret relationship CEO Attractive Arrogant/Dominant Werewolf

Chapter 5 The Fallen

The day before yesterday 17:38

Chapter 1 A Waking Nightmare

The wind howled, a feral cry that rattled the old window panes of Alex's room. She was six, an only child, nestled deep in the warmth of her bed.

Downstairs, a sharp crack shattered the night's stillness, followed by the hollow clatter of wood against the floor. Frigga, Alex's mother, stirred, her breath catching in her throat. Fear, cold and sharp, pricked her skin.

She moved with a quiet urgency, her bare feet silent on the cold floorboards. In the hallway, the moonlight revealed a trail of shattered picture frames, their glass glittering like malevolent stars.

A gasp escaped her lips. A break-in? Her heart pounded against her ribs.

Frigga rushed to Alex's room, her sanctuary. The door swung open, revealing Alex, a small, peaceful figure amidst the chaos.

The windows were flung wide, their hinges groaning in the wind, a chilling counterpoint to Alex's gentle breathing. A wave of relief washed over Frigga, quickly followed by a prickle of unease.

She moved to close the windows, her gaze drawn to the darkness beyond. A shape lurked in the distance, indistinct, yet undeniably there.

It was large, a dark mass against the pale moonlight. And it was watching her. Frigga's breath hitched. A primal fear gripped her.

She slammed the windows shut, the latch clicking with a finality that offered little comfort.

Turning, she meant to find Lucas, her husband. But a flash of lightning illuminated the room, revealing a figure beside Alex's bed. Shadowy, impossibly tall, with eyes that burned with an eerie, yellow light.

A scream tore from Frigga's throat, a raw, desperate sound that ripped through the night.Lucas burst into the room, his heart hammering in his chest.

Frigga lay on the floor, her lifeblood staining the worn rug. A gaping wound marred her throat, her arms slashed and torn. He caught a glimpse of something, a dark form, a flicker of yellow eyes, before it crashed through the window, shattering the glass like brittle ice.

He dropped to his knees, his rifle clattering uselessly to the floor. Frigga's breath rattled in her chest, a desperate, fading sound. He cradled her in his arms, his own tears blurring his vision, until her struggles ceased, and the weight of her death settled upon him like a crushing stone.

Alex remained on the bed, her small body rigid. The scene before her, the raw, brutal violence, had frozen her solid. No tears, no screams, only a chilling silence. Inside, a storm of terror raged, a silent scream trapped in her throat.

The funeral was a blur, a somber procession of grief and disbelief. Then came the police, their questions sharp and skeptical. Lucas's account, of a creature, a werewolf, met with raised eyebrows and thinly veiled condescension. "A werewolf, Mr. Vermont?" the officer had asked, his voice laced with doubt. "In this day and age?"

Lucas's grief turned to a burning determination. He would prove them wrong. He plunged into a world of dusty tomes and forgotten lore. He spent countless nights hunched over ancient texts, his eyes burning with fatigue, his mind consumed by the legend of the Lycanthrope.

Greek myths, folklore, whispered tales of men cursed to transform into monstrous beasts. He read of their strength, their ferocity, their insatiable hunger.

He learned of their weakness, of silver, of the blood of their kin. He became obsessed, his grief fueling a relentless pursuit of the truth.