Chapter 90: Ninety
She shrieks and lunges at me, and we go down in an unsightly mess of traded blows, slaps, claws and grunts. I come up on top, straddling her, and gods does it feels good when I slap her across the cheek. Once. Twice. Thrice.
My fist clenches for a punch but an arm encircles my waist, lifting me off her and I start to thrash, eager to return to clawing her stupid face off.
Lucien’s breathy laughter caresses the curve of my ear. "That’s enough, fire cracker."
The guards of Silvermoor rush over to where Astrea sits, her face covered in blood, eyes gleaming with murder. Rafael joins her side, poring over her with distaste and he lifts his gaze to us, where Lucien keeps me clutched to his chest and off the ground. "You laid a hand on--"
"We all saw who started it," Lucien says dryly, but he inclines his head anyway, not at all in apology, but in mockery. "But you have my apologies. My queen can be quite passionate."
And with that, he turns around, carrying me through the crowd with just an arm banded around me.
"Put me down," I growl.
"Not until I’m sure you won’t go on a murdering spree," he purrs.
"She started it!" I yell in frustration. "Or were you so blinded by all the fawning women that you couldn’t see that I was clearly triggered?"
"You’re the only one capable of blinding me, my love," he counters smoothly, taking me towards the stairs. He mutters over his shoulder to Evadne and Trenton, the former tipping a glass at me with a smile of approval, "Have the men on high alert. They might want to retaliate for the perceived slight."
I don’t bother fighting until we are behind the shut doors of the guest bedroom. "Put. Me. Down."
"Sure," he says and drops me. I hit it ground with a thud and I swear enough profanities at him to make his pointed ears redden.
He looks me over as I grab my at my ruined dress and stomp across to my bedroom. "You’ve been mad and out of sorts all day. Why?"
I whirl. "Don’t you even dare ask me that."
He looks so confused, it’s almost genuine. "By all means, humour me."
"You’ve been an asshole all day! Was dancing with Astrea necessary? Or Melene? Did you have to give every woman across the room the come hither look? And let’s not even get started on last night," Each word is clipped with frustration, annoyance and gods, jealousy. It stinks in the room of my jealousy. And maybe I wouldn’t have punched Astrea if he hadn’t given her all of his attention. He didn’t even dance with me. And it’s stupid, I know, to think that, right after he cheated on me last night, but cut me some slack.
I’m very emotional right now.
Lucien takes a very slow step forward like I’m some concerned animal about to lash out. "You have been ill, unable to use your powers like you used to. I had to get information somehow. You’d be surprised how much information women willingly give with their guards down. That, is the reason I danced with Astrea--"
"Oh, and let me guess, the information was laid bare between her breasts?"
He starts laughing. He actually starts laughing. "You cannot fault me if she pushed it right in my face, Valka. As for Melene, she asked. As did every other woman. I’m a far cry from a gentleman, but I’m not always rude."
"You’re contemplating taking her as your breeder," I accuse, hurt stinging my eyes.
Lucien’s brows furrow. "She’s a child, Valka. You honestly didn’t think I was getting a hard-on to the thought of giving her my... what was it you called it? Ah yes. My precious seed. What I was contemplating at the time was how great it’d be to have a member of the Draemir family washing my beautiful mate’s feet. I was considering employing her as your chambermaid. She has soft hands."
I can’t tell if he’s fucking around, but he looks serious.
He tilts his head at me. "If you’re mad that I granted every woman a dance... You’ll always be mad, Valka. Asides from the fact that I’m rather attractive, it is an unwritten rule that princes, kings, do not refuse dances. It doesn’t mean anything more than it is." Something flits across his face and his expression turns sour. "And why are you so mad at me anyway? I wasn’t the one sticking her tongue down her ex-lover’s throat."
"Not by choice," I say. "If you had just let me explain, you’d know that he forced himself on me and did that to goad you. And you didn’t even try to listen before bringing a woman to your bed. I was next door! The least you could’ve done was respect that."
The tension in his broad shoulders dissolve and he takes a step forward. That one step seems to eat up the distance and whatever’s left sizzles with heated energy. A slow smile curves on his sensual lips like he knows something I don’t.
"What?" I snarl.
"I didn’t even touch them. If I did, you would have felt like you were close to dying last night. Such is our bond."
I stare at him, aghast, embarrassed at my own drawn up conclusion. True enough, I’d never even thought about it. "Why were they even in your bedroom?"
He makes a face. "I was upset... trying to be petty. I didn’t even think it’d make a difference if I paid the maids a few gold coins to stand by your door and giggle. I told you, I only want you." He leans forward, flicking my nose. "Great to know that you do care about me, Valka. I was beginning to think this was one-sided."
Finding that I was wrong and the entire reason for my temper didn’t even exist is a rather humbling experience. It’s like watching a balloon deflate, and I don’t like how it makes me feel that I’d gone crazy with jealousy. So I hold on to the anger still, even if it isn’t rational. "What did you do with the note Cyrus left for me? And why did you turn him away from my door?"
He blinks innocently. "I may have... accidentally... thrown it in the hearth."
"I don’t believe you."
"Truth depends on perspective." His eyes rake over my clothing and they glaze with forbidden heat. "Need help getting out of that?"
"Don’t change the subject," I groan, but I feel his words all the way to my curling toes. "Why did you tell him I didn’t want to see him or go with him?"
"Because you didn’t."
"That’s not for you to decide," I counter, though my protest is weak.
"It is, if it means I get to share you with someone else." He reaches for me, wiping something wet from my bottom lip. A violent bolt of lust slams into me. "I’ll not share you with anyone."
He tugs me into him and my breath catches. "I’ll not have the taste of another in your mouth."
His thumb strokes the arch of my neck, his touch heavy with possession as it caresses his mark. A slow ache begins to unravel between my legs, awakening a well of need so deep, so vast, it makes me feverish. "I’ll not have the scent of him all over you, either. Do you understand?"
Despite myself, I nod, mouth dry.
"Good," he says, and then, jerks me around. My chest presses against the door of my chamber and what should have been a gasp comes out as a breathy moan as my nipples scrape against the door.
I feel his fingers work on the ropes of my dress, carefully taking them apart. Too slow, I think as I shut my eyes and clamp my thighs together tightly to hide the scent of my arousal.
Cold air hits my back as he brushes the straps of my dress of my shoulders gently, his fingertips soft on my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
"When female wolves want to be mates with," he murmurs, bringing his mouth to my neck in a small press that makes my insides slick with desire. "They often exude a certain scent. Soft, feminine, destructively carnal. It sends a signal to every male within the vicinity, makes them so thirsty."
Down and down, he slips my dress down. Over my rib cage, over my waist, over my hip-bone. Until it falls to a pool around my feet.
He trails his fingers along my sides, nails scraping slightly. "It is why the first few days after the mating rite is critical for both of them. Both utterly insatiable, but in truth, it is the woman’s want driving the male over the edge to stake his claim."
"You’re saying I smell like I want to be mated with."
"No, Valka." His chest brushes against my back and I feel his hard length press between my ass cheeks. My breasts grow heavier with the need to be touched. My nipples ache to be be sucked and flicked. "I’m saying you smell like you want me to fuck you."
I jerk, startled by him, myself and how close I was to pushing back against him until I have him pressed where I want him. "You’re delusional."
He steps away then, but not without whispering, "Not here. Not yet. Not until you say please."
I grab my dress off the floor, cursing at myself for letting the man talk me out of my clothes, and I flee into my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
But even taking the freezing cold shower does nothing to cool the heat in my veins. I turn and toss all night, recognising once again that my body has gone into the heat with just a few words from Lucien, and my mind, my body keeps getting pulled to the door. To finish what he started. To pick up where we left off.
But I’ll never plead with him. Never ask for it.
For the first time in a while, I dream that night. Of Lucien fucking me against the door.