Chapter 54: Our King Knows How To Use His Tongue
The trail led away from the bar, down Mason Street toward the residential district. I followed it.
Her scent grew stronger as I moved. She'd definitely come this way.
But then it changed.
Fear. Sharp and acrid, cutting through the sweetness like acid.
Something had terrified her.
My pace quickened to a run.
"Faster!" Storm demanded. "She needs us!"
"Sabi! Where are you." I called out.
That's when I saw it.
A figure burst from the far end of the alley. Male. Moving fast. Running away.
I run toward the alley.
She sat on the cobblestones, her back against the brick wall. One hand pressed against her left forearm, dark stains seeping between her fingers.
Blood.
The killing rage almost consumed me. It wasn't just anger – it was the fundamental need to destroy whatever had threatened what was mine.
But she needed me more than I needed revenge.
I dropped to my knees beside her.
"Caelan?" Her voice came out hoarse. "You... how are you here?"
My hands moved carefully to her injured arm, assessing the damage. A deep gash ran along her forearm, clean and precise. Made by a blade.
Storm's roar shook my consciousness. My eyes blazed gold for a moment before I managed to pull my wolf back under control.
"I tried calling you." I kept my voice steady as I examined the wound. "When your phone went straight to voicemail, I asked Scarlett where you were."
Sable's POV
Caelan's hands moved carefully over my injured arm, examining the wound. His fingers traced the edges of the cut, barely grazing my skin but somehow burning everywhere he touched.
"It's deep." His voice came out rough.
I watched his face in the dim alley light. His jaw was set in a hard line.
"Caelan, it's okay. It'll heal." I tried to pull my arm back. "We should go home and—"
His hand shot up to cup my cheek. His thumb brushed across my skin with infinite gentleness, such a stark contrast to the storm in his blue eyes.
"Are you hurt anywhere else? Your head? Did he hit your head? Your back?"
I blinked at the intensity in his tone. "No, I'm fine. Just the arm."
"Let me see."
Before I could protest, his hands moved to my scalp. His fingers combed through my hair with careful thoroughness, checking for bumps or cuts I might have missed.
I only have a small cut on my arm. Why is he acting like I was in a car accident?
"Caelan, really, I'm—"
"Shh." His hands moved lower, fingertips skimming along my throat and around to the base of my skull.
The gentle pressure of his examination sent shivers down my spine. I felt his hands check my shoulders, my collarbones, each touch methodical but reverent.
"Your knees." He glanced at the cobblestones beneath us. "Did you fall? Are they scraped?"
I looked down. My knees were fine, just a little dusty. "No, they're okay."
But he wasn't satisfied with my word. His hands moved to the hem of my dress, then paused.
"I need to check for injuries," he said quietly.
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Caelan, I told you—"
"Sabi." His eyes met mine, dead serious. "I need to confirm by myself that you're not hurt."
Something in his expression stopped my protests. The raw fear lurking behind his controlled demeanor.
I nodded slowly.
His hands slipped under the fabric of my dress, palms warm against my bare thighs. I bit back a gasp as his fingers traced along my skin, checking for hidden cuts or bruises.
"Does this hurt?" His touch moved higher, fingertips sliding along the sensitive inner skin of my thighs.
My breath caught. "No."
His hands continued their careful exploration. But my body didn't care about his medical intentions.
Every nerve ending came alive under his touch. My pulse hammered in my throat as his fingers mapped the vulnerable skin just inches away from my core.
Caelan's breathing had changed too. Slightly faster, slightly deeper. But his expression remained focused, intense.
"Satisfied?" I asked when he finally pulled his hands away.
Instead of his usual teasing response, Caelan remained silent. His gaze dropped to the cut on my forearm, expression darkening.
"You know," I tried again, "you're being more protective than my mother used to be. Should I expect you to start cutting my food into bite-sized pieces next?"
Nothing. No smile, no comeback.
"Or maybe you should consider a career change. That examination technique was thorough enough to put most doctors to shame."
Still no reaction. His jaw clenched tighter as he stared at my bleeding arm.
Okay, this isn't like him. Usually my jokes at least get an eye roll.
Without warning, Caelan grabbed my wrist and pulled my injured arm toward his face.
"What are you doing?!" I tried to jerk my hand back, but his grip was gentle iron.
"My saliva can heal wounds."
Then his tongue touched the edge of my wound.
Electric sensation shot up my arm. Not pain – something else entirely. His tongue traced the length of the gash with delicate precision, and I watched in fascination as the bleeding slowed.
Oh God.
My face burned as his mouth worked over my skin.
This is medical treatment, I told myself firmly. Perfectly normal healing behavior for a Lycan King.
But my body wasn't listening to logic. Moisture gathered between my thighs as his tongue continued its thorough work.
"Wow, our King really knows how to use his tongue," Esme purred in my mind. "Just like in the forest. So wet, so flexible, so skillful..."
Shut up.
"He's very talented with that tongue, isn't he? Makes you remember exactly how good he is at—"
Esme!
But Esme's commentary was making everything worse. My core clenched with need as I watched Caelan's mouth move over my skin.
More arousal pooled low in my belly. My breathing turned shallow.
Caelan's movements stilled. He lifted his head, blue eyes locking onto mine.
"What are you thinking about?" His voice carried a knowing edge.