<i>Zephyrine </i>
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It feels almost as if we are a newly wedded couple or perhaps as if we have been married for years, simply going through our nightly routine..
I reach for the towel, hang it in its ce, and move to sit before the mirror. I nce back to see him pouring himself a cup of that potion he ims dulls his beast.
We have just finished our night bath, and though my body feels refreshed, I am heavy with lust. He hasn’t thrust into me, not since the moon goddess’s warning and he hasn’t spoken a word since.
I sigh softly, turning to face the mirror and lifting the curtain that conceals it.
I know Lycannar cannot restrain himself for long; the tension is too thick, the ache unbearable. His restraint is agonizing, for him and for me. It is only a matter of time before he breaks.
I stare at my reflection in silence, and what stares back makes me swallow hard.
I have changed so much in just a month with him. I was a woman who never cried without cause, yet here I am, grieving over the fact he once had a lover while I was trapped in Nyroth’s pack.
My gaze lowers to my palms, and for a breathless moment realization hits me still and cold.
I ampletely in love with Lycannar. And I know, with this very hand of mine, I will kill any woman who dares rise as my rival.
“You okay?” his voicees gently from behind. I turn to see him watching me from the table.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’m just tired.”
“Would you like supper? You must be hungry.”
I shake my head.
“I’m fine. Early breakfast will do.”
He nods, returns the potion <i>to </i>its ce, while I beginbing through my hair. I watch it fall smooth and dark around my shoulders.
Tonight, I wear a nightgown he chose. It fits perfectly, dipping low at the chest, leaving a teasing cleavage. A gown chosen for seduction, no doubt.
I nce toward him again, expecting him to be watching me, but instead I find him writing. He looks devastatinglyposed, handsome and dominant even while penning a letter.
“I never knew you had someone to write to,” I murmur. “Official?”
“Personal,” he replies. “It’s to my brother, Hades.”
I blink in surprise, watching as he seals the parchment, then slides it into a cylindrical ss. Turning, he calls his bodyguard softly, and momentster Chantel appears at the door, head bowed.
“Deliver this to my brother Hades. Return immediately,” Lycannar orders.
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Chantel enters, takes the case, and prepares to leave but his gaze flicks toward the table, lingering on the empty cup that held the potion.
“I’m fine, Lycannar mutters, as though to reassure him.
Chantel lifts his eyes to his king in silence before departing. The chamber feels heavy until the door closes.
“He cares for you,” I whisper.
Lycannar does not answer. He sat there, one hand on the table, eyes lowered to the floor. After a moment, he looks up with a faint frown.
“How did you meet my foremother?” he asks atst.
I pause. The moon goddess, his foremother. Legend says the first Lycan was born of her womb.
“It is a rite in Ash Pack,” I say softly.
“Did she speak of me?”
I drop my gaze, shake my head.
“Not truly. Only that… I must not give myself to a man I am not fated to.”
His expression softens at that. He nods, eyes lowering again.
I study him silently. My gaze drifts from his long hair to the golden anklets sped at his ankles. Strange adornments he never removes. They look less like jewelry, more like chains meant to bind. I sigh, weary, and decide it is time for bed.
I rise, draw the curtain across the mirror for his sake, then lie upon the bed only to stiffen in shock.
Above me, stitched into the canopy, is my face. An embroidery so wide and detailed that whenever he wakes or closes his eyes at night, mine is the visage he will see.
I blink once, twice, unable toprehend such obsession.
Slowly, I turn my head to him. He is deep in thought, troubled. My heart softens, and I slip from the bed to him. He told me he missed me, and I had been too blinded by jealousy to see the truth. I remember now how suffocating it felt in Ash Pack without him.
“My love<i>,” </i>I whisper, settling astride hisp. He leans back in his chair, his hands circling my waist, eyes fixed on me. His gaze lingers on my chest, on the curve of cleavage revealed by the gown.
“Serena chose these,” he murmurs. “Said they’d suit you. She was right.”
I lower my eyes, wrap my arms around his neck, and bring my lips close to his but pause an inch away.
“Lycan,” I breathe. Desire thickens between us, and he closes the distance, kissing me.
When he pulls back, his eyes burn into mine, and his voice drops low.
“Let me make love to you another way. One that won’t break the vow you made to my foremother.”
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My heart jolts but before I can react he rises with me in his arms, carries me to the bed, andys me gently against the pillows.
“In what way, Lycan? She said I must noty with a man I am not bound to. That I will not bear a pup.” “She meant you must not copte in a way that brings forth a pup. But there are other ways. Many ways.”
His words strike deep, and my breath catches as the meaning unfurls.
“You mean… anal?” I whisper.
“And oral,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against mine. His voice is tender yet possessive. “Let me be the first and thest to love you that way. Hmm?”
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