Chapter 39 Royally Screwed
LEON
Zade—unyielding, vicious, beautiful Zade—was limp against my chest, his head lolling back, damp black hair sticking to his temple. His breathing was strained in a way that made my chest tighten in sympathy.
His scent was everywhere: sweet vanilla, dark amber and that possessive musk that had been driving me insane since the moment I scented him through Indie. Now it was mixed with fever sweat, and, gods help me, it was intoxicating.
I should have let his skull crack against the stone floor, snapped his neck while he was vulnerable, dragged his corpse to my father's feet and said, "Look. I did it. I killed the alpha who raises the dead. Crown me."
Instead, I cradled him like he was something precious.
My fangs ached behind my lips. It wasn't from hunger but from want. I wanted to sink them into the side of his throat and taste the rot and rage and power that lived under his skin.
I wanted to feed him my blood until his fever broke and his eyes snapped open, violet and furious and alive. I wanted to watch him snarl at me, threaten to rip my heart out, and then—maybe—let me kiss the violence off his mouth.
Fate was laughing at me.
It gave me two mates. Two. The woman I was supposed to deliver to my father as proof of loyalty and the man I was supposed to kill to earn the crown. And now here I was, holding the second one like he might shatter, my cock still half-hard from jerking off while my heart did stupid, traitorous things in my chest.
I pressed my lips to his forehead before I could stop myself.
The kiss was gentle. His skin burned under my mouth, fever-hot, and I lingered there longer than I should have, breathing him in. My free hand slid up to cup the back of his neck, my thumb brushing the short hairs at his nape.
'You beautiful, broken bastard,' I thought. 'Why did it have to be you?'
I straightened, ready to haul him up, and carry him to the bed like some lovesick fool when his lashes suddenly fluttered.
Violet eyes cracked open. They were glassy but piercing enough to feel like a stab wound.
"What... are you doing?" he rasped.
The question was soft and almost childlike in its confusion, but the disgust underneath was unmistakable. It rolled off him in waves. As if I'd already done something unforgivable just by touching him.
I froze, my arms still locked around his torso.
For one moment, I considered lying and playing the concerned stranger. But he'd see through it. He always did. So I gave him the truth, or at least the version he could stomach.
"You fainted," I said. "I was just going to carry you to bed."
His gaze didn't soften. If anything, the disgust deepened, carving lines around his mouth.
He stared at me like I was something obscene. As if my hands on him were an insult. As if the fact that I hadn't let him fall was worse than if I'd slit his throat.
It felt like a slap to the face.
And gods help me, it hurt.
I swallowed the sudden tightness in my throat and forced out a small, crooked smile.
"Relax, Alpha," I murmured, shifting my grip so I could ease him upright. "I'm not going to eat you. Not yet, anyway."
He didn't laugh.
He just kept staring, those violet eyes boring into mine as though he was trying to peel my skin off layer by layer and see what rot lived underneath.
I helped him sit up properly with his back against the wall. My hands lingered a second too long on his shoulders before I pulled away.
He didn't thank or threaten me. He just watched.
I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that when his head had been resting against my shoulder, I hadn't wanted to kill him.
I'd wanted to keep him.
And that realization was more terrifying than anything my father had ever done to me.
I forced my grin to widen, masking the tremor in my hands.
"So," I said lightly, "are we going to pretend that didn't happen, or are you going to try to murder me again? Because I'm flexible either way."
His lip curled.
"Don't touch me again." He didn't even look at me when he said it. "Or I might kill you absentmindedly."
The words were spoken softly as if killing me would be an afterthought or a reflex. The same way someone swats a fly without really thinking about it.
My stomach churned.
I flinched, chills travelling down my spine. Those violet eyes darted up to mine for half a second, cold and assessing, then they dropped away again like I wasn't worth the effort.
I hated how small that made me feel.
Was he saying it because I'm a man? Because the idea of another male touching him made his skin crawl?
Or was it just because I'm the hybrid bastard who crawled out of the forest bleeding and called his mate "sweetheart"?
Or maybe he's warning me for my own good. As if he knows how easy it would be for him to lose control and end me without meaning to.
All three possibilities stung in different ways.
I forced a grin anyway.
"Noted, Alpha," I drawled, trying to keep my voice light. "Hands off. Message received."
He didn't answer.
He just pushed himself upright and walked past me without another glance.
I watched his back as he left the room.
"What's wrong?" I asked, falling into step beside him.
He ignored me.
We reached the front gates just as the first real wave hit. A dozen epsilons were braced shoulder-to-shoulder against the iron bars of the massive pack gates.
Their muscles strained, boots sliding on gravel as something massive and mindless shoved back from the other side. Animalistic snarls and wet, ripping sounds filled the night air. Revenants. Dozens of them. Maybe more.
They weren't attacking randomly. They were coordinated with only one purpose. To break in.
One of the epsilons—a woman with a jagged scar across her cheek—grunted as the gates buckled inwards another inch.
"They're not mindless tonight," she snarled through clenched teeth. "They're aiming for something or someone inside."
I didn't wait for permission. I moved faster than any of them could track. I sped past Zade, past the straining line of wolves, and slammed my palm against the iron bars.
The epsilons startled—some actually jumped back at the sight of me—but I didn't care.
I bit into my own wrist, hard. Blood welled up instantly, dark and thick, the scent of it blooming in the cold night air.
I pressed the bleeding wrist to the gate. A single word left my lips in old, guttural witch-tongue.
"Seal."
The blood ignited with light, weaving through the iron like living veins. The metal groaned as the threads tightened, locking the bars together, reinforcing them with something older than any wolf magic. The pressure from the other side... stopped.
The gates stopped shuddering. The revenants went eerily still on the other side, as though someone had flipped a switch. And there was blissful silence.
Every epsilon stared at me with wide eyes, their chests heaving. The scarred woman recovered first.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her voice rough with adrenaline.
I wiped my wrist on my pants, already healing, and flashed her my most charming, blood-smeared grin.
"I'm Zade's boyfriend."
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then someone choked on a laugh. Another muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "fucking vampires".
Zade stood a few paces back, arms folded across his chest, his violet eyes shimmering faintly in the moonlight. He didn't contradict me. He didn't growl. He didn't even blink.
And fuck, the way the moonlight carved his face, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and shadowed jaw, and that tall, perfect physique that wasn't bulky but carved like it had been made for violence and sex in equal measure, made my mouth go dry all over again.
He was the prettiest killer I'd ever seen. And he was looking at me like he was deciding whether to let me live another hour. I gave him a slow, lazy wink.
He rolled his eyes.
Then he turned and walked away, his shoulders rolling with that effortless predator grace, leaving me standing there in a circle of stunned wolves with blood still drying on my wrist and a stupid, traitorous flutter in my chest.
Yeah. I was fucked. Royally, irreversibly fucked.
....
The shower had been a mistake.
It wasn't because the hot water didn't feel good—gods, it did—but it left me standing naked in the middle of the guest room, droplets sliding down my chest and thighs and pooling on the hardwood floor.
I hadn't bothered with a towel yet. The room was warm, and I liked the way the air felt against bare skin after being bandaged and chained for too long.
I was running a hand through my wet hair when the knock came. It was soft and polite.
My lips curved.
"Come in," I called lazily, already knowing who it was.
The door creaked open.
Indie stepped inside, balancing a tray with coffee, toast, eggs, and a small glass of orange juice. She looked soft in the morning light.
Her hair was still messy from sleep, and she was wearing one of Zade's oversized hoodies that swallowed her frame, with her bare legs peeking out beneath. The hoodie smelled like him. It made my fangs ache.
She froze the second she saw me.
Her eyes went wide, her cheeks turning crimson from throat to hairline. Her gaze darted from my face... down... down... and then snapped back up so fast I swear I heard her neck crack.
"Oh—gods—sorry—I—" She spun on her heel, nearly dropping the tray.