Chapter 59 Chapter 59. Zephyr’s Possession Turns Vile
Fury exploded in Evander as he charged forward. “Let Zoria go!”
Zephyr held Zoria and stepped back. Reading his gaze, the bodyguards immediately rushed in and restrained Evander.
Zephyr looked at him with open provocation. “She’s still my mate. You’re the one who should leave.”
Evander ground his teeth as he struggled. “Zephyr, haven’t you ruined Zoria badly enough? Her two babies, even her father—why won’t you just let her go?”
“Haha.” Zephyr let out a soft laugh. The corner of his mouth curved upward, cold and sharp like a blade. “What does that have to do with you? She’s my mate. If the babies are dead, she can just give birth to more. If her father’s dead, then find a good place to bury him. That’s all.”
“You bastard!” Evander’s eyes burned red with rage. He had never met anyone as shameless as Zephyr.
Zoria’s face showed little emotion. Her heart had been trampled for far too long; it was already numb. Zephyr had said things far crueler than this to her before.
Evander roared, “Zephyr, you’re a bastard! Zoria will definitely cut the bond with you!”
Zephyr frowned. His gaze darkened, turning icy. The moment anyone mentioned the words “cut the bond,” the anger inside him ignited, his Alpha scent sinking heavily and pressing down on the entire corridor.
He had originally planned, for Zoria’s sake, to simply drive Evander away without much fuss. But now, that was no longer necessary.
“Drag him outside.”
The bodyguards obeyed. A fist slammed straight into Evander’s abdomen. Pain tore from his throat as his upper body doubled over, his stomach churning so violently he nearly vomited acid.
Zephyr’s bodyguards were all well trained. Evander was no match for them.
Zoria tried to rush forward but was held firmly by Zephyr. She turned her head and glared at him fiercely. “Let him go!”
Zephyr curled his lips into a smile and lifted her chin to face him. “What, you’re worried about him? Didn’t you say you don’t care about anyone anymore?”
A chill ran down Zoria’s spine. She clenched her fists and quietly looked away. The more she showed concern for someone, the more Zephyr would use them to threaten her. She couldn’t afford to reveal even the slightest weakness.
Taking a deep breath, Zoria spoke hoarsely. “Then can you let go of me?”
Zephyr stared at her cold, expressionless face and suddenly laughed. He raised a hand and lightly patted her cheek, his tone turning disturbingly gentle. “Zoria, do you want to see your father? Then you’d better speak to me properly. Beg.”
“I can’t speak properly to a demon,” Zoria shot back coldly.
Zephyr did not show displeasure, but Zoria knew he was angry. She could clearly feel his chest heaving violently, his Alpha breath thick with oppressive force.
He leaned in close, his voice low. “Zoria, aren’t you afraid that my men might accidentally smash your father’s urn?”
Another threat.
Zoria clenched her hands until they turned white. She glanced at Evander, who had been beaten to the ground, and said hoarsely, “Go, Evander. Don’t worry about me.”
“Zoria…”
Zephyr lifted his chin slightly. “Call him a taxi. I’ll pay the fare.”
After Evander was dragged away, Zephyr seemed to snap. He crushed Zoria’s wrist as if he wanted to grind her bones to dust, dragging her violently into the room. Before she could react, he threw her onto the bed, the weight of his Alpha pressure crashing down on her body.
He stood against the light, his strikingly handsome yet icy face submerged in shadow. He bent down close to her, his voice deep, carrying the authority of a mate-bonded ruler. “Beg me. Maybe I’ll soften up and take you to see your father.”
Zephyr urgently wanted to prove his place in Zoria’s heart. Hadn’t Zoria once begged him to love her?
Suddenly, Zephyr remembered the first night they had sex. Zoria had been drunk that night, limp in his arms, clutching his arm tightly as if afraid he would abandon her. She had sobbed softly, whispering through her tears, “Zephyr, I feel so awful. Please… help me…”
Zephyr’s mind swelled with a sudden, irrational irritation that demanded an outlet. He looked down at Zoria beneath him—her face pale, her trembling eyes fixed on his—and said coldly, “Beg me to fuck you, and I’ll take you to see your father. If you don’t, don’t even think about seeing him again.”
He thought Zoria would refuse.
Instead, she let out a soft laugh, the corners of her eyes curving into a chill, seductive arc.
She was used to it, wasn’t she?
From the very beginning, what lay between Zoria and Zephyr had been nothing more than a “contractual relationship.” Zoria used her body to satisfy the desires of a wolf, and in return, Zephyr granted her the fulfillment of her petty requests.
Her body had already been ravaged beyond repair. Whether she agreed or not—what difference did it make? At least if she gave in, she could see her father one last time.
Zoria took the initiative, spreading her legs before Zephyr. The hand that had been gripping his arm loosened as well.
“How do you want me to beg you?”
Zephyr froze.
Zoria did not resist at all. He should have felt satisfied, yet something felt off, leaving an uncomfortable tightness in his chest.
When he stayed silent, Zoria spoke again, her tone flat. “Or should I copy a few tricks from prostitutes and beg you that way?”
Zephyr lowered his head and stared at her with undisguised displeasure.
This was nothing like before.
He wanted the Zoria who smiled sweetly, who called him affectionately, whose eyes still held a trace of warmth for him.
He bent down, driven by an inexplicable resentment, and bit down hard on Zoria’s lips. Zoria curled her lips into a mocking smile and, going along with it, parted her mouth to respond, letting him seize her mouth at will.
The taste of fresh blood spread across her tongue, yet Zephyr still refused to let go.
He tore Zoria’s clothes apart, leaned close to her ear, and whispered something crude and shameless. “Zoria, don’t be afraid. A mixed-blood omega can still have sex right after a miscarriage.”
Zoria laughed out loud when she heard that, nausea churning in her stomach. She could not stomach his filthy way of speaking.