Chapter 93: Chapter 93

We rode west for three days without stop. Voss is crawling with guards, the walls holding unflattering portraits of us with bounty prices that seemed to double with each passing day. Ten thousand gold coins for a tip off, and double that price for leading the enforcers straight to us.

As such, we couldn’t afford to stay at an inn, for the sake of ambiguity. But it got better on the third day. Lucien’s ruse must have worked because the Silvermoor patrols were drawn east, leaving us with a mostly clear path east.

I hated having what few friends I have facing the line of fire on my behalf, but I could do nothing on that account but hope they were alright. The plan, after all, was to get close enough to be seen, far enough not to get caught in the pursuit.

We’d split the trail to aid in their confusion and rode around in circles until we lost them.

I hope it made a difference.With Trenton and Evadne carrying Lucien’s missive on the approaching war, it was important they got back home soon. And if Rafe’s plan worked--if he kept Ebonheart blind until the attack, completely unaware of the approaching danger--there wouldn’t be a kingdom left to save.

Lucien had figured out Rafael’s intentions when we learned the roads in and out of Voss were blockaded, preventing goings and comings for most.

Which is why we’re taking the longer, most dangerous route. Through the steep mountains. My legs are sore. My ass is sore. My stomach is cramped. I feel faint. I’m so cold, I can barely feet my toes and fingers. Exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days. I’m grouchy and in a poor mood. And the only reason I haven’t fallen off this horse is because Lucien’s arms are around me, clutching the reins tight.

The horse slows as Lucien sniffs the air. "There’s a stream nearby," he murmured. "It might do us good to make camp."

I blink blearily. We’re in the middle of nowhere, with oak trees forming thickets that are scattered around with mossy boulders. It’s so thick, I can barely make out the moon from here. "Here?"

He guides the horse to one of the enormous oak trees. "We’re deep enough in that no one will see a fire," Lucien says, dismounting. "And we both could use a bath."

I flush instantly and fight the urge to take a sniff at my armpit. We both need a bath? He looks completely unruffled and smells like winter and sin, it’d distracted me for most of the ride. Ever just want to pull up a man’s shirt and press your nose to his skin because he makes you so damned hungry? Yes, that feeling had choked down on me the whole time and worsened my mood.

Meanwhile, I’m fairly sure I smel like horse sweat. Maybe this is an indirect way of saying I reek? Gods, do I?

Before I can argue, his hands are at my waist, lifting me down easily. My knees wobble from sitting too long, and just as I brace against him to regain my footing, the man cups the back of my head gently. My gaze jerks to his then, his fingers searing such heat into me, the night air stops being so cold.

Light fingertips brush my hair over my shoulder and he leans in, slowly. My body warms, my exhale somewhat breathy. And just when I think he’ll kiss me, just when I start to think of what I might do if he does that--because gods, I’d be such a liar if I said I didn’t want it, he lowers his head to the crook of my neck.

Somehow, this is worse than a kiss to my neck. Because my knees give out as his fangs graze my pulse and puncture my skin. I gasp at the gentility of it, my fingers gripping his arm and holding tight. His other hand finds the hem of my shirt, sliding underneath to cup my waist. His hands are hot. His mouth is hot. My blood is hot. My spine arches, wanting for more than the chaste touch of his hand gripping my waist.

But his teeth leaves my skin and his tongue lavs at the small wound, until I feel it close. My heat quivers, contracting once. Twice, as he drags his tongue over me slowly.

"Lucien," I breathe and it is a pathetic whimper.

"Hm?" The vibration of his deep voice makes my nipples pebble.

Please, I want to say. Lower, I want to plead. But I have way too much pride to plead. "Get the fuck off me."

He chuckles and pulls away, but not before dropping a soft kiss to my jaw. "Did you never wonder why I marked you on the journey back from Velryric?"

"Because you’re a strange individual?"

He makes a hum in his chest. "Not quite. I just..." His ears turn red. "I was going to tear your throat out with that bite. But... you smelled very... sweet."

My brows nearly jump to my hairline. I hadn’t seen a bath in more than eight days. I reeked of sweat and blood and death. I don’t even know what to say to that, but he adds as he strides off, pulling his coat off his back. "Your thoughts often run down the bond. Your anxiety. Your insecurities. Your fear. Amongst other things. My point is, you’ll always smell like something I’m far too obsessed with the thought of tasting."

He peels off his shirt next and I whip my gaze away before my eyes can run down the length of his toned back. But he grunts halfheartedly. "You can look, Val. It’s all yours, after all."

My mouth dries because I do...well, I look. He takes off his boots next, tossing them with the rest of his clothes and my pulse quickens at the sight of those muscles, that tapered waist. He runs his fingers through his hair and standing off to the side with his back arching. "Where are you going?" I ask, as he disappears through the dark veil of the forest.

"Hunting for dinner," he calls back from the dark. "The lake’s to your left. Listen for the trickle."

When I return, Lucien has built a fire and is spinning what looks to be deer, but too far to be one over the flames. I shiver at the warmth, my feet snapping against a branch as I make my way over to him.

Lucien’s head rises at the sound and he stiffens, violet gaze running from my dripping hair clinging to my skin, to my body wrapped in the first thing I could find--his fancy red tunic--and my bare legs, because I’d washed my clothes and we’d packed light.

Again, those eyes rise from my bare feet, and go higher and higher, until they meet my eyes. "Are you trying to kill me?"

I peer down at myself. His tunic is oversized, as are most of his clothes. It falls over my knees like a dress. I must look ridiculous. "My clothes are wet."

I can feel his eyes like phantom fingers trailing up my legs. His nostrils flare and he clears his throat. "Wolves and Lycans are territorial, Valka. Lycans, even more so. When a woman starts touching our things, wearing them, it says, I want your scent on me. We are simple about such things, in the sense that when that happens, our first thought is to smear her with more of it."

I stare at him. "It’s just a tunic, Lucien."

He smirks, running his tongue along his fangs. "At the start of the war, when Ebonheart was yet to be built and my grandfather, Tiber was on the run for a long time, living in the wilds with creatures far more dangerous than anything you’ve ever seen--though, they’ve now gone extinct. But in the wilds, while there are no rules or structures set in place for beasts, even animals respected the claim and scent of other predators during hunts for food. During that time, Tiber had just taken a new bride, and to keep her safe from other prowlers, he put certain measures in place so that when he left her to wonder, he knew she wouldn’t even be neared or considered food to the wilds."

At my curious arch of brow, he adds, "He peed on her."

He doesn’t seem as disgusted by it as I thought he might. "It proved rather effective. No predator wants his meal coated in the scent of another, much less when the other is an apex." His eyes ghosts over my body frame, at every point where his clothes touch my body. "So when a female coats herself in the male’s scent herself, it says, I want you all over me. I want your scent in my mouth, under my skin. I want every male out there to know I am yours. Other days, it might even mean, I want your pups

My scowl is one of revulsion, but something intimate, obscene and tender all at once passes between us. "I do not want your pups. And I am not your meal." ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ NovєlFіre.net

He chuckles, deep and wicked, eyes glinting. "No. But you smell an awful lot like one."

Eager to flee from the topic of conversation, I stride over to the log by the fire, draping my wet clothes on the far end of it, and I watch him spit the meat once more, the aroma making my mouth water. "What kind of meat is that?"

He shoots me a look. "You don’t want to know."

"How do you know it is safe to eat?"

He tuts, breaking off a piece and extending it to me. "I spent a larger part of a century roaming the wilds and eating raw beasts. Not my finest moments. And don’t ask me what they tasted like." He shudders, repulsed.

I take it from him, stomach practically weeping for a bite. It doesn’t taste bad. "Why were you in the wilds?" I ask with a mouthful.

Something in his playful countenance shifts. Barely there, but it is obvious in his downcast eyes. "I shifted after I lost her. Wanted to die with her. Should’ve. Didn’t. I was stuck in my Lycan form for a very long time. It was easier that way. Didn’t have to communicate or think much. He did all the thinking for me. It was a form of reprieve from the grief." He shakes his head and a hint of cheer enters his voice again, though it is so obviously forced. "Well, thanks to that experience, I learned predatory skulking can be quite fun."

"I’m sorry. About Ilya."

Violet eyes flick from the fire to mine. "I miss her. Everyday." My heart stalls slightly at the hard grief in his eyes and my fingers curl with the urge to touch him. Or offer him some comfort. But I shouldn’t. Not when I’m the reason he hasn’t been reunited with her, after all.

He notes my reservation, the purse of my lips and he starts. "Valka, that doesn’t mean--"

"It’s fine," I cut in and stand, not at all hungry anymore. "I understand."

He catches my wrist before I can leave and start spiraling with a dark wave of thoughts. "I chose you."

Frustration lines his brows. "Why on earth would I go through the trouble of binding us together, if I wanted you gone?"

"Maybe you have an ulterior motive. You always do. There’s always an angle with you."

His eyes shutter and for the first time, I see hurt in them. He lets me go. "This isn’t easy for me. And it wasn’t years ago when you told me the truth. You speak of trust but it is you who betrayed me, took advantage of me, and then stabbed me through the chest. It is you who ensured I fell for you first, because you knew once I did, there would be no chance that I chose her. You healed me of my grief and then, made me forget that I’d healed, made me relive it all over again in the years you were gone. You are wicked, and mean, and vile, Valka. And yet, I’m still here. I still--" he chokes off on the last word, then unleashes a snarl that makes me flinch.

And then he turns around and leaves me there.

And he doesn’t return in a very long time.