Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 9: Voss POV 18+

By midnight, the wind had learned to speak. It whistled and howled, flinging grit and the scent of rusted metal through the half-shattered greenhouse crowning the old tower block.

In the makeshift lounge, an old mattress and a tangle of wooly blankets, Felicity’s laughter high, wild, just on the edge of terrified spilled out like a dare to the city below.

From his corner, Voss watched it all.

The glass wall was a deliberate cruelty: nothing but a smoke dark sky, a fractal of broken neon, and the show inside. Victor had dragged her here, hand gripping the delicate bones of her wrist, but now he only held her loosely, as if the real threat was her leaving. The man’s bulk was almost comic against the dainty nerves of Felicity’s frame, but Victor cradled her like she was made of explosives and spun sugar.

Her skirt was a shock of white up her thigh, shocking even to Voss, who had seen a hundred girls stripped down and bloody in the fighting pits.

Victor’s huge hand was under it no, inside her, he realized, as Felicity’s hips bucked against his wrist with a ferocity that bordered on violence. Victor’s other hand wound through her hair, guiding her cheek up against his mouth, baring the tender column of her throat.

Voss’s skin was suddenly too tight, his nerves skittering. Victor didn’t bother hiding his face; the hunger, the possessive glee, was for anyone to witness. With every roll of his fingers he twisted Felicity’s slim body tighter, and Voss could see the tremors fluttering down her thighs, the tail swishing unselfconscious between her knees.

Voss braced his knuckles against the ledge, watched, and let the want gather in the pit of him. He didn’t feel rage. He felt the old order reasserting itself, the one that said the strongest took what they wanted, and that the rest simply waited their turn.

The animal in him understood it perfectly. So he bided his time, not blinking, letting the ache in his own groin throb into something hot and bright. He was hard enough to hurt, but he didn’t move just watched, greed gnawing him hollow.

Felicity was making the little mewling noises now, the ones that sounded more animal than girl, her hands clawing at Victor’s shoulders. Her head tipped back on her neck, mouth opening in an "O" as she came, convulsing so hard Victor had to hold her up with both arms. He did, and he laughed, deep and low, as if the sound belonged to the earth itself.

Only then did Victor look up, straight across the glass to Voss.

Their eyes locked. No challenge, no warning just an invitation. Yours, if you can take her.

Voss’s breath left him in a hiss. He unbuckled his pants, slow, not even caring if Victor or the felicity saw him.

He stroked himself, the sound buried under the howl of the wind and the desperate panting from the center of the room. He watched Victor withdraw his fingers, glistening, and bring them to Felicity’s lips. She sucked, dazed. Her ears those perfect, ridiculous fennec ears twitched at the taste.

Voss imagined what would come next. He’d walk in when Victor had finally fucked her limp, when she was too spent to protest, and he’d drag her into the darkness and make her remember him. He’d bite down on her shoulder and listen to her scream.

All the old rules were gone. There was only this hunger, and need, and the drive to remake the world in your own image.

Victor stood, Felicity draped across his arms like a flag. He bent to whisper something in her ear, and she giggled, hand trailing down his chest. Then her gaze slid sideways, all the way to Voss’s shadowed corner. Her lips parted, and for a second Voss thought she might cry out for him.

Instead, she just smiled sweet, sly. Daring him.

He let the wind carry his answer: a long, guttural hiss, barely human. He knew when the time came, she’d open her arms for him, too.

He zipped himself tidy, swallowed the metallic taste of his own need, and waited. The stars over the city pulsed in time with his heart, wild and indifferent.

The future wasn’t written, but it was going to be filthy.