Chapter 8

Ispend the rest of the night half awake, tormented.

Wishing for full, dreamless sleep that won't come.

Instead, I'm haunted by Mina's face. Her expressive eyes, the fragile bitterness that I doubt she's even aware of. She tries so hard to be strong, but I can tell. I can see she'll shatter if she keeps driving herself the way she did tonight, forcing herself beyond exhaustion to help the victims of the blood drinker's latest attack on Westshear lands. It's obvious… because it's like looking in a mirror.

My hands clench in the sheets, and I grunt, trying to shift to a more comfortable position.

I promised Mina she would be safe. Can I even keep my promise? Guilt eats at me, the past shoving itself into my half-waking dreams along with Mina's face, her supple curves and her fire.

Memories of my father, eyes glowing red, the crimson rage of battle warp causing him to grow even larger. My mother's screams of terror. The smell of smoke pervading my senses could just as easily be from the battlefield of Inasgow as it is from the village of Sheerly.

How can I keep my mate safe if I already failed at keeping my people safe?

I punch a fist into a pillow before swinging my legs to the side of the bed and abandoning all pretense of sleep. The first light fingers of dawn trickle through the heavy curtains, and I shake my head, running one hand across the base of my horns.

I failed my people. Just as my father before me.

I will not fail my mate.

I refuse to fail Mina.

The mere thought of her has my cock stiffening. I should not have teased her about coming to my bed. I should not have wanted it so badly, to wake up next to her ample body, to feel the softness of her flesh—to lose myself in it.

She does not want me.

That much is crystal clear, from her disgust at Sulen's explanations, from the way she looks at me with barely contained frustration.

The memory of the anger in her face is enough to quell my desire, and my shoulders bow. I can be a patient male. Once, my father was too, though. I clench my teeth.

Damn this blood curse.

Damn the blood drinkers and their filth.

The tattoos on my arms bulge as I flex, then stretch, my feet padding silent on the wood floors.

Quiet blankets the village of Sheerly, the town still sleeping. I brace my hands on the window ledge, kicking the curtain out of the way. Mist unspools through the town, and memories flood me yet again. Of the massacre at Inasgow, the shells of houses that line the burnt out ruined their now.

My head drops to my chest, my horns clinking against the glass pane.

It's getting worse.

The tug of madness, leeching at my strength, my willpower.

We cannot go on like this, waiting for the blood drinkers to strike. I should have continued to Dabin and Idiene Fieldhouse, should have simply scooped up my mate and finished my task, my call for aid.

Westshear cannot go on like this much longer, bled out slowly by the stars-damned parasites plaguing the capitol and my territory.

Instead, I listened to the basest part of me, the animalistic voice that cut through reason and demanded I take Mina home. That I make her mine.

I will not give into that madness; I will not breach the most sacred laws of matehood on Vraya.

My first Westshear charger was a wild thing, a foundling found in the woods not too far from this very village. My father would have broken her, as was the old custom, until she feared rider and whip but performed readily. Instead, I tamed her with sweets and crunchy vegetables, teaching her not to fear, but to love.

I cannot force Mina to love me, and I doubt she will succumb as easily to sugary treats as my first horse. My shoulders sag.

I will win her over.

I will watch as she walks to me and begs to make her mine. It may take longer than I would like, but when the centuries stretch ahead of us, it will seem like no time at all. If we can stop the blood drinker's onslaught. My knuckles whiten on the window ledge.

"Hi," a voice croaks out, and I turn so fast my horn scrapes across the glass.

As if my thoughts have conjured her, Mina stands in the doorway. Dark blonde hair tumbles around her shoulders, and a long shirt, mine, I realize, hangs past her knees. Her lips are swollen from sleep.

Fuck. She looks delicious.

"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, but your door was open and—" She gestures at her door, across the hall. "—I saw it, and then you're awake, and I'm really, really hungry…" Her gaze skates down from my eyes, across my chest, lower. She bites her lip and looks away.

Do I not please her?

I glance down at myself. Sure, there are scars criss-crossing my torso, a white raised mark that knifes along my abdomen… but I know how the women of Westshear look at me, and they do not hide the desire in their eyes. Doubt tangles in my mind, until Mina lifts her chin, steel in her eyes.

Still, there's a faint blush blooming along her cheeks.

I raise one eyebrow. Perhaps she does not find me unappealing, after all.

"I will make you food to break your fast," I tell her. Her eyes drift down again, and I do not imagine the way her cheeks color again. Pleasure laps my senses at her reaction. Normally, I would put on a shirt of my own, but I like this.

I like the reaction she has to my body. Her shyness is charming. Diverting.

"Break my fast?" she says, her nose scrunching adorably. "Oh. Breakfast. Yes. And you don't have to do that, I can make my own?—"

"Nonsense," I say, closing the distance between us. "It will be my honor to cook for you. Besides, you'll need your strength for today." I snatch a leather wrap from a table, deftly weaving it around my hair, tying it out of my face.

"Okay," she says, her eyes wide. "I won't say no to some coffee."

I pause. "I do not know this coffee."

Her face crumples, all the heat disappearing from her eyes. "Fuck. Fuck, of course you don't."

"I love the way you speak," I growl, all thoughts of patience fleeing the room, along with my good sense. "But you cannot tell me to fuck unless you mean it, coruscant. And if finding you this coffee to eat is what it takes to get that, then I will burn the world down to find it."

Her hand covers her mouth, her eyes wide in surprise. "I, ah, I truly don't know what to say to that."

I circle her wrist in my hand, removing it from her pretty lips. The tips of her breasts brush against my stomach, and my cock strains against the soft fabric of the pants I wore to sleep. Her hair slides across her forehead as she stares up at me, wide-eyed.

Did I think I was a patient man? I was wrong.

"What do you want to eat? What do you usually eat?" Her voice is unsteady, lower than usual.

I tilt my head down, inhaling the scent of her. "I can think of several things I would like to feast on this morning."

She clears her throat, and for a moment, I fear I've crossed a line with her. "Right. So, eggs? Sausage? Toast? Chicken and waffles? Breakfast tacos?"

I grin down at her, and for a split-second, her lips curve slightly. Then she shakes me off, walking briskly from the room.

Satisfaction rolls through me.

This attraction?

It is not one sided, after all.

And I know, without a doubt, I would move the heavens themselves for another small smile from my coruscant.