4. Malachi

Chapter 4

Malachi

T he tradition of passing everything to the eldest child has always puzzled me. Why would the firstborn automatically take on the leadership role, even if he wasn’t best suited to it? Case in point, this atrocity in front of me. If I had my way, this heathen witch—or whatever she is—would be in the underground cells with the rest of the rebels where she belongs.

But no one ever listens to me. I’m just the baby brother, too stupid to know any better. My brothers are too captivated by her beauty, her allure, and the electrifying energy between us to recognize the real danger Poppy poses.

I’m the only one who is onto her.

“Can’t you walk any faster? You’ve been sitting for the past hour. How tired can you possibly be?” I spit.

Poppy glances at me, half-balefully, half-worriedly, but picks up the pace as she follows me through the main floor of the estate, toward the bank of elevators. She doesn’t realize where she’s going yet, but I’m keeping her as close as I can, just in case she tries something like she did with Warrick. I’m more than prepared.

Under normal circumstances, I would have taken the stairs to the third story, but I don’t trust her not to flee. I want to keep her directly in my line of sight, within reach and ready to seize if she tries anything sudden.

“An elevator!” she breathes, impressed. “You have an elevator in here?”

Scowling, I press the button and the door immediately opens, allowing us entry, but I don’t give her the benefit of an answer. Suddenly, I consider that maybe this is some kind of shake-down.

I bet she’s going to ask for compensation for this so-called killing of her mysterious father.

“Get in,” I order her.

Swallowing thickly, she ambles into the elevator, and I inadvertently catch the curve of her upper thigh as she moves, the sack dress barely covering her long legs entirely. We have to do something about her attire if she’s going to stay on the estate. She can’t dress like that, even if she is still technically a prisoner.

The realization irritates me more. She doesn’t deserve nice clothes, even if she is staying in our home. Everything about this arrangement bothers the hell out of me.

I press the third-floor button angrily and lean back against the railing, folding my arms over my chest to glower at her. She bows her head, trying not to look at me, but it’s hard to do when I’m staring right at her.

“I didn’t go to the party to cause trouble,” she mumbles.

Her words infuriate me more. Before I know what I’m doing, I press the emergency stop button and bear down on her, hands dropping on either side of her slender waist to rest on the rails. Wincing, she bows her head more, not looking at me at all. Long tendrils of hair hide her face.

“Oh, no?” I drawl sarcastically. “What did you hope to accomplish, Lost One? Were you just going to sneak in and steal what you could? Try to make a grab for some gold watches or rings?”

Her scent intoxicates me, subtle hints of sage and lavender teasing the edges of my mind, stirring a memory that feels just out of reach yet thrillingly familiar.

I hate this effect she has on me.

Her head whips up, denial painted all over it. “What? No!”

“What then?” I taunt her.

“I just want answers about my father,” she insists. “I want to know why you killed him. I was trying to figure out if you fit the vision I’ve been dreaming about. I… I wasn’t even sure I was going to talk to you. You just happened to see me first.”

I scoff. The heat of her uneven breaths stirs me more, and I move my hand cautiously over her face, roughly cupping her chin.

“This father, whose name you don’t know?” I mock her. “That guy?”

She meets my eyes steadily. “Yes,” she answers, her voice clear and unwavering. “The dreams have been showing me the truth all along. Now that I've seen you all transform—the black dragon, the white wolf, the lion—I believe the dreams are real.”

My fingers trace her jawline with reverence, and surprisingly, she leans into my touch.

She stifles a sigh, but her pupils constrict as my hand lowers over her collarbone, her heart rate increasing. I wait for her to stop me. She doesn’t, but instead, she arches into me.

Fuck… I shouldn’t be doing this.

I hesitate, not allowing my hand to move lower, but the swell of her breast is teasing me. Her pulse throbs, and I nuzzle my nose roughly against her neck.

She puts her hand on mine, moving it lower, and my fingers graze her nipple through the thin material.

A soft gasp escapes her lips, encouraging me.

“And what if you’re wrong? What if you’re just delusional?” I laugh, licking over the curve of her throat.

She should hate me, and I don’t trust her at all. Yet, there’s an undeniable pull between us, whether we want it or not. I can see it in her eyes, the way they flicker with the same conflicted fire burning inside me. Whatever this is, she feels it, too. And despite every instinct screaming at me to stay away, I can’t resist her—won’t resist her.

Goosebumps explode along her skin, and heat surges between my legs as I allow my hands to travel lower, raising the hem of her prisoner attire.

Her ass cheeks fit evenly into the palms of my hands, and I massage her apart, nipping at the tender skin of her neck as she moans lightly. “I’m not wrong!” she murmurs.

Her argument is weak, and I snicker again, dropping to my knees, wanting to taste her.

My head cocks back to look up at her, waiting for her to resist, to show some of the defiance she’d possessed earlier, but all I read in her face is the naked desire I feel coursing through my own veins as I rip away her panties with my teeth.

Inhaling deeply, I nuzzle my face between the sweetness of her center, her arousal already pooling at the entrance of her core.

Her hands twist into my hair, and I tense, remembering her power, but before she can get any ideas, my tongue dips fully into her. A loud, vibrating cry reverberates through Poppy’s body, her back falling against the mirror as she grips the railing for support. I grab her leg and splay it over my shoulder, fissions of electric current surging through me as my laps grow faster and headier instantly.

“Oh gods,” she gasps. “What are you doing?”

Her head falls back against the mirror, and I don’t acknowledge her question, the twist of her fingers in my hair encouraging me to work harder, faster, more urgently, as if I’m proving something not only to her, but to myself, too.

What am I doing? Why am I doing this?

But neither of us put a stop to it; the attraction between us is too great and I need to see her come. I want to taste her nectar all over my tongue and mouth, to bring her to my complete submission and claim her for myself. Her thigh tightens around my neck, and I can tell I’m bringing her closer to her peak. Her ass clenches in my hands, and the tip of my tongue works tirelessly against her swollen sweet spot.

“Oh,” she mewls, her taut form ready to snap under the pressure of her climax.

I smile to myself, but it’s a mirthless grin, even as she releases, giving me exactly what I wanted all along.

Lapping up every drop of her climax, I gently release her, allowing the makeshift dress to fall back in place. I turn away, wiping her juices from my face as I stand. Self-loathing crashes over me, cutting through the euphoria before I can fully revel in it.

That was impulsive and stupid! I shouldn’t have done that.

I can almost hear my fathers breathing a collective sigh of relief from the grave that Warrick is in charge and not me.

This is why the laws of primogeniture exist.

Avoiding Poppy’s wistful sapphire stare, I push the elevator back into service and ignore her, fixing my gaze straight ahead. Her breaths even out by the time the doors open again, and we arrive on the third floor.

“I—” she starts to say, but I cut her off as I stalk out in front of her.

“You’ll stay in the west wing,” I interject rudely. “Just because you’re not in the underground cells anymore doesn’t mean you’re still not a prisoner. Is that understood?”

I see her nod through my side vision, but I don’t slow down. Her scent lingers on my lips, driving me to the brink of madness. All I want is to get back to my room and wash her off before the urge to touch her consumes me again. But deep down, I know no amount of scrubbing will rid me of this craving. She’s under my skin, and there’s no escaping it now.

“I understand,” she whispers.

Stopping in front of a set of double doors, I throw them open without touching them, and step aside before she can get too close. Gasping in awe, Poppy steps to the threshold.

“I’m staying here?” she asks shakily, blinking at the spacious rooms.

“Not my choice,” I remind her coldly. “Are you going inside or what? I don’t have all day.”

She shuffles forward and turns to me gratefully. “Thank you, Alpha,” she says, but I still see the gleam of mistrust in her eyes.

Whatever moment we’d shared in the elevator had been a moment of weakness for both of us. It can’t happen again. I can’t let it.

“Don’t thank me,” I bark, slamming the door behind me.

Having her in the estate is just bad for everyone. I have to make my brothers understand how foolish this choice is.