I Was Turned Into a Hound for His False Love

I woke from the darkness. My legs had no sensation.

I threw back the duvet—the skin below my knees was riddled with needle marks, my calves bowing outward, the joints entirely stiff.

These were not my legs.

The sound of a lighter clicked from the foot of the bed. Damian stood there, cigarette smoke obscuring half of his face. The eyes that had once promised, "It's you or no one," now held only disgust.

"Awake?"

"The banquet... I didn't poison them..."

"Shut up." He crushed out his cigarette. "You murdered my parents, and you're playing the victim?"

"It was Vivienne! The nanny's daughter—"

"Enough." He seized my jaw. "We found the poison and the plans in your room. Lysa, I saw the smile on your face with my own eyes when my parents collapsed."

I hadn't smiled. But he had already released his grip.

I rolled off the mattress and hit the floor. The second my toes touched the ground, a blinding pain exploded in my knees—something had been implanted in these legs. I dropped to all fours, sprawling on the hardwood.

Out in the courtyard, Vivienne approached. She was wearing the flowing white chiffon dress I had prepared for the banquet.

"It was you!" I lunged forward, grabbing the hem of her skirt.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked and scrambled backward. Her stilettos slipped. We tumbled into the pool together.

The water was freezing. A tearing agony ripped through my calves, and I sank straight down.

Damian jumped in. I reached out to grab him—but he planted a foot squarely on my shoulder, using the leverage to kick me ruthlessly back under as he caught Vivienne and swam to the edge.

Water flooded my lungs. By the time a bodyguard hauled me onto the deck, I was already on the verge of losing consciousness.

Damian draped his jacket over Vivienne’s shoulders, then turned to glare at me. "Since you love acting like a rabid animal so much," he said, "I'll make you a beast completely."

The bodyguards dragged me down to the basement. On the way, the realization hit me—he had decided this long ago.

The operating table. No anesthesia. My four limbs were buckled down dead-tight with leather straps.

"Canine cartilage has already been grafted onto her leg bones," the doctor noted, inspecting the alien incision lines on my calves. "Today, we implant the follicles and the tail."

A scalpel sliced open the skin on my lower back. A piece of cartilage was brutally nailed right into my spine—a dog's tail. I bit down so hard I shattered a right molar.

Cluster needles punched into my skin. Thousands of coarse dog hairs and follicles were mechanically forced into my pores. Every single plunge felt like I was being flayed alive.

My agonizing screams tore my vocal cords.

Four hours later, I was dragged off the table and hurled into an iron cage.

All four of my limbs had been entirely reconstructed into a hound's hind legs, the knees bending backward, the toes replaced by black flesh pads and claws. Coarse, ash-grey fur covered my body all the way up to my waist.

Aside from my face, I no longer looked human.

Damian walked down the concrete steps and stopped outside the cage.

I looked at him. The man I had loved for seven years.

I wanted to hate him. But triggered by his familiar scent and the twisted remnants of my love, the newly implanted tail actually began to wag uncontrollably.

I dragged myself against the iron bars. "Damian..."

He kicked the grating savagely, the violent shockwave throwing my face backward. My nasal bone snapped.

"Disgusting." He stared down at me with pure revulsion. "You've become a dog and you still dare to go into heat for me?"

I didn't speak. Hot blood from my broken nose coated my hands.

Taking a half-step back, he jerked his chin at the four bodyguards waiting in the shadows. "Oblige her."

The heavy chains were ripped off. The men stepped inside. A calloused hand grabbed a fistful of my hair.

I was ruthlessly pinned to the concrete floor. The savage, violent assault hammered down on me relentlessly.

Outside the cage, Damian looked down and lit a cigarette. He simply stood there watching, as if observing a detached theatrical performance that had absolutely nothing to do with him.

I didn't know how much time passed before the iron cage finally fell silent. The men adjusted their clothes and backed out into the dark.

I sprawled on the floor, covered in dark bruises. The fresh blood between my legs mingled with the leftover gore from the surgery, slowly pooling and spreading through the cracks in the grey concrete.

Damian walked over and crouched by the bars. Forcing my swollen eyes open, I stared blankly at the tips of his shoes through blurry vision.

"Still have the energy to glare." He watched me through the wire mesh, his voice as casual as if he were discussing a dinner menu. "Lysa, do you want to know where your mother is right now?"

My fingers violently clamped onto the iron bars. My fingernails bent and peeled back. I didn't let go.