The Lycan Twins Abused Mate

Content Warning: This book contains dark themes including stalking, non-consensual/dubious consent situations, graphic violence, and explicit s****l content. If any of these themes may be triggering or uncomfortable for you, please proceed with caution or consider skipping this book. Reader discretion is advised. *** My father towered above me, glaring with a look that could freeze the blood in my veins. The rod in his hand felt like a death sentence, and I whimpered, cowering at his feet. Terror gripped my heart, squeezing until it hurt to breathe. My entire body trembled uncontrollably, every instinct screaming at me to run, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed, trapped by the overwhelming sense of dread that pressed down on my chest, suffocating me. “Please... don’t kill me,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper. “Please…” I clung to his legs, desperate, searching for even the smallest glimmer of mercy in his eyes. But there was none. All I saw staring back at me was pure, unfiltered rage. His angry eyes and furrowed brow sent waves of cold fear through me. The memories of past beatings flooded my mind—every strike, every cruel word. Each one was more painful than the last, reminding me how futile it was to hope for anything different. My heart ached, not just from fear, but from a deep, gnawing loneliness, from the desperate craving for love that I knew I would never find in him. “Father, please,” I choked out. “I’ll be obedient. Just… please, don’t kill me.” But my pleas only seemed to anger him further. The rod came down, slashing through the air before landing on my back with a sickening crack. I cried out in pain, my body jerking uncontrollably as the sharp sting radiated through me. My breath caught in my throat, my vision blurring as tears streamed down my cheeks. The betrayal cut deeper than the blows—how could he? My own father. It felt like every shred of hope was being beaten out of me, leaving me empty and raw. He struck me again. And again. And again, until my skin tore open, and the warm trickle of blood stained my clothes. I writhed on the floor, helpless, sobbing like a child, my screams echoing in the dark corners of the room. “Stop!” I cried, my voice hoarse. “Please, stop! I’m sorry! It hurts… Please!” But he didn’t stop. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking so hard that it felt like he might tear it from my scalp. I screamed, the pain blinding, as his grip tightened. I could feel his hot breath on my face, the veins in his neck bulging as he snarled, his eyes wild with rage. His hatred consumed him, and I was nothing more than a punching bag for his fury. I tapped at his arm, silently begging, praying for him to release me. But mercy wasn’t something he knew. “Hey, wake up! Ava, wake up!” A voice pierced through the darkness, and I felt someone shaking me roughly. Oliver’s voice was filled with panic, his hands gripping my shoulders, shaking me out of the nightmare. *** Ava’s POV I jolted awake, shivering and drenched in cold sweat. My heart pounded in my chest, and I wiped the moisture from my forehead, wincing as a sharp headache pulsed behind my eyes. “It’s okay, Ava,” Oliver murmured, her voice soft as she stroked my back in comforting circles. Her touch helped ease the panic that still clung to me. “You’re safe. You’ll be fine.” Oliver was my best friend—the only person who had stayed by my side when my world fell apart. Life hadn’t always been this way. I used to be the cherished daughter of William Garcia. As his only child, I was supposed to have everything—love, toys, sweets—all the things that made life sweet. My parents adored me, spoiling me with gifts. We weren’t rich, but we were happy. Or so I thought. My mother, Patricia Glory Garcia, was everything I aspired to be—beautiful and elegant, with a heart full of love for my father, despite his ordinary looks and modest income. Our home had been filled with warmth and affection, and I had always felt lucky to be their daughter. But that all changed one day. I was only ten years old when everything shattered. It was the day I lost my mother... and the day I lost my father, too, even though he was still physically there. The man I once called Dad turned into a monster, blaming me for the tragedy that tore our family apart. He became the source of my nightmares, the reason I cried myself to sleep every night. His cruelty was endless, and he never let me forget that, in his eyes, I was the reason for his misery. “Get your ass down here, you bastard!” his voice boomed through the house, sharp and cold as ever. Another day, another round of torment. My body still ached from yesterday’s beating, but I forced myself out of bed, wincing with every step. Even after years of this, I could never get used to the pain. Every bruise, every cut felt fresh, like a wound that would never heal. “Are you deaf?” he snapped when I hesitated at the top of the stairs. “I said run!” Fear surged through me, and I rushed down the stairs as quickly as my trembling legs could manage. It didn’t matter that I was weak, that my body was screaming in pain. Disobedience would only makes things worse. “Father…” I whispered as I reached him, my voice shaking. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” His hand shot out, gripping my face so hard it felt like my skin might tear. “Tell me why you deserve to be my daughter after killing my wife!” Before I could answer, he threw me to the floor, my head slamming into the edge of a wooden chair. Pain shot through my skull, and I let out a hiss as blood began to trickle down my forehead. But he didn’t stop there. His fists came down hard, one after another, each punch sending shockwaves of agony through my already battered body. I didn’t fight back. I never did. Rebellion meant death. I learned that long ago. By the time he finished, I was lying in a pool of my own blood, my body a patchwork of bruises and cuts. He sneered down at me, his face twisted in disgust. “Good thing you’re still alive,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “You’re still of use to me. Killing you would be a waste.” I barely had the strength to lift my head. My entire body throbbed with pain, but his words hit me harder than any blow ever could. I knew what was coming next. “Go clean yourself up,” he ordered. “Mr. Drake is coming to pick you up soon.” I froze. My heart sank as the full weight of his words hit me. No, it couldn’t be… not this. “Please, no…” I choked out, crawling toward him. “Please, Father, don’t do this. I’ll be obedient. I’ll do anything. Just don’t sell me.” He roared with laughter, the sound chilling. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not your father!” He hurled a stick at me, hitting me squarely in the side. “You said you’d do anything, didn’t you?” “Yes!” I cried, my voice cracking. “I’ll do anything!” “Then it’s time to make good on that promise,” he said, his grin turning sinister. “I owe Mr. Drake a lot of money, and I can’t pay him back. So, I’m selling you to him. He promised to pay me handsomely for you, and given how pretty you are, I’m sure you’ll fetch a high price as a s*x slave.” My world collapsed. “N-No…” I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. “Please, don’t.. don’t sell me as a s*x slave!” “Shut up!” he bellowed. “Didn’t you say you’d do anything for me? Well, you don’t have a choice. Just dress up and look nice. You’ll make me a lot of money, just like your mother did with her beauty.” I sobbed uncontrollably, my cries echoing in the empty room. But nothing I said mattered. My father—no, ‘this monster’—had made his decision. My pleas, my promises… none of it made a difference. My father was a gambler. I worked my tail off just to pay his debts, yet it was never enough. He wanted to sell me off as a s*x slave. Oh, mother, I should be the one on the other side. Why did you make my life a living hell? Why did you save me? You destroyed me. My tears were falling unrestrained. I was trembling and clawing at my father’s feet, pleading and promising him that I would get more jobs and work hard to pay off his debts, but all he did was kick me and sneer at me. He kicked me aside, sneering as I clung to his feet, begging him to reconsider. “I’ve already received the p*****t,” he said coldly. “It’s done.” I crumpled to the floor, utterly defeated. No one could save me. Not now. Not ever. I crawled back to my room, my heart heavy with despair, and waited for my fate to arrive.