60. Arran

We arrived back in the bedchamber just as the bottom arc of the sun crested over the hill. My heart throbbed in my chest, my beast howling and clawing to be freed. Slaughtering the succubus had only whetted his appetite.

Veyka released my hand instantly, stalking to the window.

I could not even pretend to not watch her.

She dropped the weapons first.

Then the cinched linen shirt that highlighted the too-generous curve of her hips. I sucked in a breath and turned away when her fingers went to the laces of her bustier.

More fabric hit the floor as she reached for a wet cloth and began scrubbing away the remnants of our encounter with the succubus.

This was punishment for that bloody, feral possessiveness I'd shown in the dungeons. I told myself not to look. What had happened before… not a mistake. But rash. Driven by need rather than rational thought.

But rationality and strategy had failed me where Veyka was concerned. I had no memories to use as their basis. All I had was feeling and need.

And I needed her more than I needed my next breath.

A long, languorous groan filled the room, surging straight for my cock. My eyes were on her before I could stop myself, devouring every detail—every luscious curve silhouetted by the morning sun, every dip and dimple of her magnificent backside visible as she stretched her arms overhead.

Fuck it.

The duel would not take place until midday.

"Wake me in time for lunch," Veyka said, shattering my delusion.

She threw herself into the bed without a backward glance in my direction. Wrapped bedsheets that still smelled of our sex tight around her. And did not even open an eye to taunt me with a wink.

Ancestors.

I was so truly fucked.