12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Lorcan

I feel the shiver of power along my spine and grind my teeth together, my attention leaving the sniveling fae kneeling at my feet. He should probably consider himself lucky to have my attention diverted away.

Without bothering to dismiss him I stand, stepping down from the raised dais and making my way from the throne room. Only giving a passing thought to wonder if he will stay there out of fear for the repercussions. Two of my guardsmen follow at a discrete distance behind me as I make my way along the hallway, with only one destination in mind.

I know exactly what that particular feeling was and it spells trouble for my Huntsman.

When I finally push through Cianán's door, I find the room empty and the forest quiet as though it's waiting silently for its master. Get in line. The thought crosses my mind as I narrow my eyes, closing the door behind me and leaving the guard on the outside. A new scent reaches me on the breeze and a growl builds in my chest.

The scent lingers in the air like a taunt, wrapping around me with the unmistakable tang of arousal and magic, a heady mix that makes my muscles tense with anticipation. He had someone here, in this very room. I can still taste the faint trace of her in the atmosphere—her fear, her confusion, her fleeting pleasure. My Huntsman has been busy. Too busy.

As I sit on the edge of Cianán's bed, my hand brushes idly against the silk sheets, the smooth fabric a poor imitation of the softness of skin.

I don't have to wait long before I sense the shift in the air. The quiet that lingers around the room grows heavier, and the faint rustle of the forest beyond feels like a distant heartbeat. Shadows twist in the center of the room, thickening.

Then he appears. Cianán. My Huntsman steps from within the shadows. His movements are smooth, practiced, but I can see the hesitation in his eyes. He didn't expect to see me here. Not so soon.

The wicked grin he usually wears diminishes for a second as his green eyes meet mine, surprise flickering across his face. His composure is swift to return though, and without a word, he strides forward, shedding the glamor and kneeling at my feet. Closer than normal.

That smirk disappears when I wrap my hand around his throat, the silver-tipped claws I wear on my fingers digging into his skin.

"Have you been playing without me, mo shealgóir ?" I purr, my voice as sharp as the claws pressing into his neck.

Cianán's eyes widen briefly at the accusation before meeting mine with defiance. His golden skin flushes under my touch, and I can feel the thrum of his pulse under my fingers, a wild rhythm that excites the darker parts of me. He knows he's in trouble, yet there's a thrill in him, a challenge in his gaze.

"I can smell her," I whisper, my lips brushing his, the scent of honey and blood still fresh in his mouth.

I slowly lick along his bottom lip and when he breathes out a sigh I press my lips to his, my tongue delving deep to taste the remnants of his conquest. The sweetness explodes in my mouth. It's intoxicating, but I don't linger on the taste for long. My claws sink deeper, drawing blood as I break the kiss, he groans as the sharp copper tang fills the air around us.

"Blood for blood," I remind him, my voice low and laced with power. "You know the oath, Cianán."

Cianán's breath stutters, a shiver running through him as my claws draw more blood, the dark liquid trickling down his golden skin like molten silver in the dim light of the room. His smirk is gone now, replaced by something else—something that has my own heart beating faster. That hunger, the dangerous thrill of knowing he's stepped too close to the edge, but unable to stop himself from looking over.

He doesn't respond right away, but his eyes never leave mine. That defiance, that fire that has always lived in him, still burns brightly. Even now, when he knows the consequences.

I tighten my grip just enough to feel his pulse flutter under my fingertips, to remind him that I am in control, that every beat of his heart, every breath he takes is mine to command.

"There is something about her," he finally says, his voice rough, strained from my hold on his throat. His lips part in a faint smile, but it's weak, a shadow of the wicked grin he usually wears for me. "But I'm sure she is nothing, simply a distraction."

"A distraction," I echo, my voice dripping with amusement as I tilt my head, studying him. "I thought you didn't need distractions, Cianán? You kept your distance from me out of respect for her , but now you're playing with a mortal?"

I let the silence stretch between us, the tension thickening as I hold him there, my hand still wrapped around his throat, feeling the tremors of his body beneath my fingers. The scent of his blood, the tang of the girl's arousal still clinging to him—it all feeds into the hunger that gnaws at my insides.

Using my free hand, I slip it beneath his shirt, brushing against the marks etched into his skin. They pulse under my fingertips, swirling with ancient power, a reflection of the same marks on my own flesh. As my touch awakens them, the familiar hum thrums through my body—a resonance of the bond we share, one that has been dormant for too long.

It's been years since I felt this, since our marks pulsed just beneath the surface like this. The connection never faded, but time apart dulled its potency. Now, it flares back to life, and I see the recognition in Cianán's eyes as his lips part, a ragged breath escaping him as he shudders.

"This momentary distraction..." I murmur, my voice softer now, though still edged with warning. "I'll allow it—for now."

I press my hand harder against the marks on his chest, feeling the surge of power ripple through him, through me. The connection is intoxicating, the raw energy of it almost overwhelming. My bonding with Cianán was never a surprise to me, it's the one that came after that became the poison in my blood.

Leaning closer, my lips brush the shell of his ear as I speak, low and dangerous. "Once The Hunt is over, you will return to my side, where you belong."

I release my grip on his throat, and my hand moves up to my mouth. Bringing the claws, still slick with his blood, to my lips and slowly licking them clean, savoring the rich taste of him. Each swipe of my tongue is deliberate, a slow indulgence. I moan softly, closing my eyes as the sweetness of him floods my senses.

When I open them again, Cianán is still kneeling before me, his lips parted, eyes dark with hunger. The way he looks at me—his breath shallow, his chest rising and falling—reminds me that no matter how defiant he may be, he is still mine.

When I rise to my feet, he stands with me, his movements fluid and confident. His grin returns, a dangerous glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Did you leave the court to come straight here, my king ?"

There it is again—that tone, the one that stirs the darkness in me, makes me want to do something dangerous, something twisted. I narrow my eyes, ignoring the question, letting my icy gaze linger on him before I ask, "Who is she?"

Cianán's smile falters momentarily, but he quickly recovers. "Her voice drew me, as pretty as a bird. She isn't from any of the villages; she's from America. But…" His brow furrows, and for a moment, he seems lost in thought, his eyes distant as he recalls something. "She has fae in her blood. I could taste it."

Curiosity flares within me. It's intriguing, though it makes sense only to a limited extent. A small amount of fae blood in someone from America would be unusual, but not impossible. I hum thoughtfully in response as I step past him, intending to leave, but his hand reaches out to grip my wrist.

"Never question our bond," he says firmly, his eyes locking onto mine with a sharp intensity.

The pulse of power between us grows heavier. The connection between us thrums beneath the surface. The muscles in my jaw twitch as I grind my teeth together, the hunger in me roiling, but I keep my expression composed.

I press my body against his, the proximity charged with a dark intensity as I feel my power rise. My lips brush against his, just a whisper away from a kiss, and electricity crackles between us. "If this distraction persists past The Hunt," I murmur, lightning arcing between us and making his breath catch, "I will drag her to Faerie myself. I'll see exactly how sweet her blood tastes and how pretty it makes my throne room floor."

With a final, lingering look, I turn and make my way toward the door. My guards, stationed outside, fall in step behind me as I move through the hallway back toward the throne room. I hope that sniveling fae is still there, he is about to pay the price for Cianán's distraction .