58. Arran

I woke again in the liminal hour just before dawn, when light begins to seep back into the world and creatures of the night retreat back to their dark refuges. My arm reached across the bed, seeking without conscious thought or intent, only to find the space cold. Empty.

But the scent of primrose and plum lingered.

The room was dark, the fire gone to nothing. But I could hear faint movements near the foot of the bed. Another second, and I knew from the slide and cadence that it was Veyka.

She was dressing.

"You are leaving."

The sounds ceased, but silence did not come. Was that Veyka's heart beating wildly in her chest, or my own?

"I will be back by sunrise, Brutal Prince," Veyka finally said. She resumed her careful movements, the soft scrape of leather and fur giving way to the harsher sounds of metal as she strapped on the harness she wore over her chest—the one that as coincidentally showcased her magnificent breasts.

As if anything Veyka did was coincidental.

"No harm shall come to me," she said into the darkness between us. An offering, after those last words of concern I'd given. My own weakness, exposed.

A sharp pain stabbed into my gut, as real as if someone had shoved in a blade. Where was she going—to who? Barkke was beyond, waiting in the forest, but with her void power Veyka could be at his side in a matter of moments.

My mind may not remember her, but my beast and my body did.

"Hush," Veyka whispered. I could imagine her lips pursing together, the soft hiss of her breath between those luscious lips. But I felt it in my chest—the thread that was wrapped so tightly around my heart, surging, shining. She was not speaking to me, but to my beast. "You know that I am yours."

I was gripped with need—not just to be inside her again, though I could feel my cock tightening—but to have her. Possess her. Every part, not just her body.

The sex had been… less than I expected.

It had eased the primal ache in my chest, the climaxes real and more visceral than any I'd ever experiences.

But I knew there was more, something we had not touched.

Maybe we were both too afraid. Maybe I was a coward, after all. The Brutal Prince, High King of Annwyn, too terrified to be honest with himself or his mate.

That did not stop me from wanting her.

From needing her.

My feet hit the floor. "I will come with you."

Silence.

It was too dark to search her eyes. But a few steps on the cold stone floor, and I was close enough to see the shape of her face, even with only slivers of starlight from the window to illuminate her.

Veyka was a master of masking her emotions. I'd watched her do it with Palomides, showing just what was useful, holding back what was dangerous. But here, between us in the dark, it was different. She was different.

The pout of her lips betrayed her—lips still swollen from where they'd scraped across mine. She was trying to harden herself, to create a protective shell around her heart. Her bottom lip trembled. She was failing.

For a moment, I thought she would refuse. Simply disappear into the darkness, into the void, where I could not follow.

Then into the space between us, she held out her hand.