Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals!

Maisie

I was mad as hell.

I had so many grievances that I didn’t even know where to begin listing them.

I was pissed-off walking. Or rather pissed-off sitting, tangled in crimson silk sheets while my skin reeked like I had been having a sexathon.

And that made me even madder.

Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse, it found a way to get crappier.

I didn’t get a choice about any of it. No dating. No flirting. No slow, romantic build-up. Just straight to being screwed senseless by four men who were probably now walking around feeling like their dicks were the hugest, most magnificent and perfect creations under the sun.

Which—I cringed—I vividly remembered telling them a time or too.

Well, maybe several times.

I sat up and glanced around. I was in my old bedroom, but in truth, I was still back there. In that bed downstairs. Chained to the post like an animal. Having sex.

Goddess. I’d had sex with those men.

Raw, filthy, and completely uninhibited sex. I’d done everything a woman could do with a man, with four of them. And I had—I cringed again—worshipped every inch of them.

I was going to die of embarrassment. If the rage and hatred consuming me didn’t kill me first.

I snatched up the sheets, wrapping it around my body as I scrambled for the shower, nausea and disgust and shame roiling in my gut.

My reflection streaked in the mirror but I refused to look at her. I couldn’t stomach it right now because I knew what I would see. A body that was perfect. A face that was perfect. My calves, thighs, arms, stomach was lean, yet toned.

Just how much sex and how many positions did one need to be fucked in to have their body resculpted and remolded? What had we been doing? Constant sexual gymnastics?

How had I changed so much in weeks that I couldn’t recognize myself anymore?

And more importantly, why did I feel so different inside, too? So angry, so wild, so... not Maisie? Had they taken that from me too? Was this what it felt like to lose your innocence?

The shower was scalding hot. I punished my skin, nails digging into my flesh as I tried to scrape them off my body. The skin healed almost immediately. Their scents didn’t leave. The marks on my body gleamed silver, permanent, as if mocking me.

And I hated them. Hated them so much, just looking at the marks made me want to scream and rip out my hair.

They had forced this on me.

After weeks of treating me like garbage. After lying to me. After touching me, kissing me, making me want them, knowing that I would, changing the entire trajectory of my life to fit into theirs. Because they could.

And now, I was doomed. Doomed to forever. Doomed to a crown I didn’t want or ask for. Doomed to life with lying, manipulative pieces of shit.

A tiny cry crawled up my throat. It was more anger than pain.

Freedom.

That was all I had ever wanted. A simple life. A life that belonged to me. One I could be proud of. One where I wasn’t someone’s maid, someone’s reject, someone’s toy, someone’s pawn, someone’s slut. One where I woke up every morning and chose who I wanted to be.

They had taken that from me.

To save my life. Like I ever would’ve been in this shit position, if not for them.

My fury sharpened and turned to steel as I arched underneath the shower.

I was done letting them play deity in my life.

If they thought forcing me into this marriage would keep me here, they were going to learn exactly how wrong they were.

I was Maisie Adams.

And I was going to take my life back.

Even if I had to burn theirs down to do it.

****

The last time we’d all stood in this same spot was months ago. When I had been told for the first time that my life was about to change.

Now, I was pounding my fists into Jericho’s back as he walked all the way back.

I’d only made it as far as the tree line before he caught me and threw me over his shoulder, dragging me back into the mansion.

"Put me down right now, you bastard!" I shrieked, hand hitting his skin and in slaps and blows. "Let me go!"

"Running away and avoiding this conversation is only delaying the inevitable, malyshka," he murmured, tightening his arm around my calves. "You’re ours now. You may burn the entire house down if it sates your fury, but that will never change."

He dumped me on the couch, leveling me with a cool stare. "You’d best begin to get used to it."

"Fuck you," I snarled.

He quirked up a brow. "I want to. Will you let me?" Then he frowned. "Oh. I forgot. I already have."

I was instantly on my feet, raising a hand to strike him across his stupid face, but he caught my wrist and crushed me against his chest. He leaned down and dragged his lips across my earlobe. "Careful. You’re making me excited."

As if to punctuate his words, something hard pooked against my thigh through the tight jeans I found in the wardrobe and half heartedly threw on to leave this cursed house.

My body instantly warmed. My insides tightened and raging lust filled my blood. The bond flared to life and I suddenly wanted to strip off my clothes and let him have his way with me through every hole that existed in my body.

I tore myself away from him, fear and confusion and shame competing inside me. It had never been this way with Cole.

And I slammed into Mercer, who gripped my waist and forced me back into the couch.

"We are going to explain. And you will listen. You wish to leave after that, the door’s wide-fucking-open," Mercer said. "But I’m sure the thing we have to say will interest you."

I shrugged him off. "There’s nothing you could possibly say—"

"Even if it has to do with your parents?"

My head snapped up to where Soren stood. "Excuse me?" I searched his violet blue gaze and stilled as Kisten Hunt’s words came rushing back to me. I blinked rapidly. "You said he was crazy." My nostrils flared. "Is there anything that ever comes from that mouth of yours that is true?"

He cocked his head. "If I recall correctly, you quite liked that mouth very much when it was between your legs."

My heart pounded. My cheeks burned. "That wasn’t me. I was out of my mind. I never would’ve done it otherwise."

"Really?" Mercer’s eyes mocked me, and in them I saw myself rocking my ass against his groin, demanding things I never would, and sobbing when he refused to fuck me.

"You told me I was your world," Quinlan purred. "You never wanted it to end. I hear Jericho over here got the most praises. You told him you wanted to have his children. In fact, you begged for him to fill you up with all that... seed."

It was instinctive for my gaze to snap to Jericho’s. But I wasn’t prepared for the fire that burned in that gaze. And I was instantly assaulted by erotic images.

My hands on his face. Me on his face. Me backing up to him. Me straddling him, both my hands wrapped both hands around his big, long, hard... oh god.

It was the transition, I wanted to say, but what about right now? Why did their voices work on me like aphrodisiacs? I was wet and ready. I had been since Jericho threw me over his shoulder.

For weeks, I’d been trapped in a transition-induced sexual frenzy, having constant, incredible sex with them, while listening to their voices, smelling their scents. Like a breeding dog, I’d been conditioned by repeated stimuli to have a guaranteed response.

My body anticipated, greedily expected pleasure in their presence. I inhaled, caught myself straining for the scent of them, forced it back out, closed my eyes like I could hide behind my own eyelids from the truth.

That all they had to say was ’fuck’, and I wanted to bend over and arch my ass in the air.

Angry tears pricked my eyes and my throat closed. I was changed. Ruined.

"Cat got your tongue?" Soren taunted. "And what a lovely tongue it is. We would know. It licked every inch of us. Like damned popsicles."

I couldn’t take it anymore. Could stand being in the same room with the men who had conditioned me, like I was some slut whose only existence depended on how quickly they could roll down my jeans and fill every orifice in my body.

I pushed to my feet and started toward the foyer, when Soren’s voice brushed against my spine like a caress.

"Richter Adams."

I froze.

Slowly, I turned back.

Soren’s violet eyes pinned me to the spot. "We could begin with the Exiles. Or we could begin with the day I met your father."

My pulse slammed against my ribs.

He held my gaze. "It depends which part of the story you want first, Adams. Though I suspect you do not care much for the history or the politics. So I will start where you will care the most."

He licked his lips.

"It began with a four-year-old prince waking up to a knife at his throat and a rogue assassin standing over his bed. The assassin was Richter Adams."