Breed Me. Daddy Alpha novel Chapter 81

Favorite Sin 81

Do Not Call Hes A Slut!

Do Not Call Her A Slut!

~Damon~

I honestly didn’t expect to see this.

Not this early in the damn morning.

I was getting ready to head out. Had my mind already locked on the day’s business – pack meetings, a border patrol issue, some late shipments I needed to handle myself.

I was halfway through a black coffee, shirt undone, planning to take a quick call with one of the Elders when I heard that voice. Camilla’s voice.”

That sickly–sweet, high–pitched voice she used when she thought she still had control.

And then I heard Lyra’s voice.

Her voice.

Sharp. Defiant. Wet with rage and something else too. That shaken breath girls get when they’ve just been humiliated and don’t know whether to scream, cry, or throw a chair.

So I stopped. I didn’t care about the meeting anymore. I didn’t care about the shipment. I didn’t even care that my goddamn coffee was going cold on the marble.

I walked to the doorway.

And what I saw? It made something feral snap in me.

Lyra. Standing there in that tiny skirt, face flushed, chest rising and falling like she’d just run five miles. Holding herself tall. Fierce. Braver than I’d seen her yet. And Camilla – standing in front of her with that judgmental little smirk she’s always worn when she’s about to destroy something she secretly envies.

And I lost it. Quietly. Dangerously. Completely.

I said her name – just her name – and the whole room shifted.

Camilla froze. Lyra turned slightly, just enough for me to see her eyes, and f**k, she looked like she wanted to collapse and fly all at once. I saw the tension in her jaw. The heat behind her lashes. The way she was

shaking not from fear, but from fury she didn’t know how to unload.

And then Camilla opened her mouth.

Started that bullshit about thick thighs and little whores and husbands seeing too much ass. Talking like she hadn’t spent years popping pills while I cleaned up her mess. Talking like she still meant something here. Like she still had the right to talk about what I could and couldn’t see.

Like she didn’t know I’d already tasted the girl she was trying to shame.

I snapped the moment she lifted her hand.

She hadn’t even touched Lyra yet. Her arm was just halfway up, but that was all I needed to see. The second she moved with that venom in her eyes, I crossed the kitchen in three strides and slammed my hand on the damn counter.

“Don’t you f*****g dare touch her, Camilla.”

Do Not Call Me A Su

My voice boomed through the kitchen like thunder, Lyra didn’t even flinch. She stood her ground like a soldier, but I saw it. I saw the way her body tensed. I saw the way her breath caught in her throat. And I swear to God,

I almost lost it.

“What the f**k is wrong with you?” I roared, eyes locked on Camilla like she was prey. “Why the f**k are you still in my house?”

She didn’t even blink.

She had the audacity to fold her arms beneath her fake t**s and tilt her head like she was the injured party. Like she hadn’t just tried to slap a girl barely past eighteen who hadn’t said one thing that wasn’t deserved.

“You mean our house, Damon,” she spat, her words laced with syrup and venom. “And I’m not going

anywhere.”

This f*****g b***h.

I felt the rage boiling beneath my skin. My jaw clenched. My fists curled. And I swear I could hear the blood pounding in my ears like war drums..

“Why the f**k are you siding with her, Damon?” she screamed suddenly, stepping forward like she thought she still had a right to confront me.

“Why? Are you forgetting that I am your wife?! That this girl is just a fat, thick–ass kid with a rude mouth and no self–respect?!”

Her voice rose, ugly and raw, and then she jabbed a manicured finger toward Lyra.

“Look at her skirt! What is she even feeling like? Walking around this house like she owns it. Like she’s not just a slut in training.”

I was already moving.

But Lyra didn’t say a word. Didn’t cry. Didn’t cower. She just stood there, eyes burning, back straight, like she already knew I’d burn the whole world down for her.

“Just shut the f**k up, Camilla,” I snapped, stepping fully between them. My body now a wall, shielding Lyra from every ounce of Camilla’s bullshit. “Look at what you’re wearing. You want to talk about skirts and asses? You’re in this kitchen with your t**s hanging out, wearing shorts that could double as f*****g underwear, but you want to slut–shame her?”

Her eyes widened. She took a step back, shocked that I dared to speak to her like that. But I wasn’t finished. Not even close.

“I’m a grown–ass woman, Damon!” she yelled, her face flushed now with both rage and humiliation. “I can wear whatever the f**k I want!”

free pass to act like a bitter, washed–up mean “And so can she!” I roared back. “You think age gives you girl? You think your ‘grown–ass woman‘ status means you get to police what an eighteen–year–old wears or how she looks or who she f*****g/talks to?”

She opened her mouth, but I kept going, my voice hard as stone, low and vicious enough to make the floor feel like it was shaking beneath us.

“She’s not the one who disappeared for nine months on a pill binge while I ran this house. She’s not the one with a f*****g addiction. She’s not the one who came crawling back after rehab with a fake smile and a

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< Do Not Call Mer A Slutt

f*****g spray tan, expecting me to forget what you did.”

Camilla gasped, clutching her chest like I’d stabbed her, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

“You want to talk about disrespect?” I growled. “You lost the right to speak about respect when you let this entire family fall apart while you played victim in every damn spa and clinic across the state”

She shook her head, eyes watery now, but I didn’t feel sorry for her.

I felt rage.

Because Lyra hadn’t done a goddamn thing wrong. Because Camilla walked back in here thinking she still owned me. Thinking she could piss on the territory I’d already marked.

“I’m warning you, Camilla,” I said slowly, my voice deadly calm now. “If you ever raise your hand to her again- if you so much as breathe wrong around her–I will personally drag your ass out of this house and make sure you never step foot inside it again.”

“She’s just a girl, Damon,” she whispered, like it was the final blow. “You’re old enough to be her father.”

And maybe I was. But that didn’t f*****g matter.

I turned to glance at Lyra then, and just seeing her–flushed, strong, raw, beautiful–was enough to steady every part of me.

“She’s not just a girl Camilla. She is ‘MINE“”

“What the hell, Damon,” Camilla hissed again, her voice cracking under the weight of whatever ugly emotion was rising in her chest. “What is it? Because she’s a wolf like you? Is that it? And I’m just a human, huh? That’s why you’re treating me like trash.

She stepped closer, like proximity would make her words hit harder, like standing in front of me would force me to see something that wasn’t f*****g there.

“Tell me!” she shouted, eyes wild now. “Why are you supporting this child?! Why are you defending her like she’s your equal–like she f*****g matters more than I do?!”

Before I could answer, Lyra took a step forward. Her entire body was coiled tight with rage, fists clenched at her sides, eyes locked on Camilla like she was ready to lunge.

“Call me a child one more time, b***h, and I’ll—”

“Lyra,” I said sharply, grabbing her arm and holding her back, firm but calm, my voice cutting through her fury like ice against flame. “Don’t.”

Her lips trembled with the words she wanted to say, but she held them in, barely, because I asked her to. Because she listened to me.

I turned my attention back to Camilla.

“This isn’t about wolves and humans,” I said slowly, deliberately, each word soaked in warning. “This isn’t about biology. This isn’t about species. This is about the fact that you walked into my house, insulted a guest, raised your hand to her like a bully in a middle school hallway, and expected me to applaud you for it.”

She opened her mouth, but I raised a hand to stop her. I wasn’t done.

“And I don’t give a f**k what you are. Human, wolf, or something in between. You don’t get to slut–shame her just because you’re miserable. You don’t get to talk about her curves, her skirt, her mouth, or her body like

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< Do Not Call Mer A Slut

you didn’t just come down those stairs dressed like a porn parody of a housewife”

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