Chapter 34 Chapter 34 Bath Time

Chapter 34 Chapter 34 Bath Time
With the kids away, I decided to indulge in some long-overdue me time.

The castle felt different without them—quieter, yes, but also heavier, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. The servants had retreated to their quarters, the corridors hushed, the hour late enough that the world beyond our stone walls had softened into shadow.

I welcomed the silence.

I crossed into the bathing chamber, the stone cool beneath my bare feet, and reached for the taps. The pipes groaned softly as water surged through them, filling the great carved basin. Steam began to rise almost immediately, curling upward like living things, warm and inviting, the air thickening with heat.

For the first time all day, my shoulders began to loosen.

That was when I felt it.

A shift.

The air changed—subtle, unmistakable. Pressure rolling in with the quiet awareness of being watched by something that didn’t need to announce hisself.

I didn’t turn right away.

I already knew.

Rryan appeared in the doorway of our bathing chamber like he owned the place.

Which, unfortunately for my plans, he did.

He leaned against the stone frame, massive and relaxed, arms folding slowly across his chest as his gaze dragged over me in a way that made my skin heat up. His presence filled the room, swallowed the steam, bent the space around him like gravity had decided to answer to only one force.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

I glanced over my shoulder, unimpressed by the authority in his tone. “I’m drawing a bath.”

One dark brow lifted. His mouth twitched—not a smile, but something close. Dangerous.

“That’s my job.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the water, pretending I didn’t feel the way his attention followed every inch of me. “I’m fully capable of running my own bath.”

“Capable,” he replied, already moving. “..yes, but the real question is, will I let you?”

The sound of his feet against stone was unhurried. Deliberate. Each step landed with quiet confidence, the kind that didn’t rush because it knew there was nowhere for its prey to go.

I felt him before he touched me.

Heat rolled off him in waves, pressing into my back, curling low in my stomach. My breath hitched despite myself. The steam thickened, clinging to my skin, blurring the edges of the room until all that existed was stone, water, and him.

He stopped directly behind me.

Close enough that I could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Close enough that his bulge pressed in between my ass cheeks. My breath became heavy and deep, stirring desire deep inside me that had always recognized him as law long before crown or throne ever entered the picture.

My fingers curled around the stone edge of the bath, knuckles whitening as the water continued to rise.

“Turn around,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

I turned.

His gaze caught mine instantly—dark, intent, focused possession. The kind of attention that stripped away pretense and left only truth in its wake.

His hand came up, fingers firm as they wrapped around my jaw, thumb lifting my chin until my face tilted exactly where he wanted it. His touch was grounding. 

“My delicious little flame,” he murmured.

The words sent waves of warmth straight through me.

He leaned in, lips brushing my neck, warm and slow. Not rushed, never rushed. His mouth followed the curve where my pulse betrayed me, his tongue tracing the mark he placed there long ago—one that didn’t fade, no matter how much time passed.

Heat bloomed instantly, spreading through my body in warm, rolling waves that made my knees threaten to give out.

The water reached the rim of the bath and spilled over, sloshing onto the stone floor, unnoticed.

His mouth lingered, fangs grazing just enough to remind me of what he was capable of. His breath was hot against my skin, each exhale sinking deeper, winding tighter.

“Did you really think,” he murmured against my throat, “that I’d let you do this without me?”

His fingers slid from my jaw to my throat, resting there with quiet authority.

Claiming.

I felt our bond respond immediately—tightening, flaring, heat spiraling low and slow between us. It was familiar. Dangerous. Alive. The kind of connection that didn’t ask permission and didn’t wait for approval.

His body pressed closer, sealing me in. Flesh to flesh. Thigh to thigh. The solid reality of him leaves no room for escape, no illusion of independence. King, beast, mate—every part of him aligned and focused on me alone.

Steam swirled around us, the room heavy with heat and tension.

“Tonight,” he said, his voice steady, certain, absolute, “…you’re mine.”

The words settled over me like a sentence and a promise all at once.

His grip tightened just enough to remind me who held the power, who always had. The bathwater rushed across the stone floor, pooling at our feet as his presence closed in, inescapable, overwhelming, complete.

He didn’t let go, and I didn't want him to.



Niklaus watched Sarah as she slept, her head resting on her father’s chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing was the only sound I heard cutting through the night.

The wagons creaked softly as they moved along the road, moonlight spilling across canvas and wood. Troy adjusted his grip on the reins, eyes scanning the darkness beyond the firelight.

Beside him, Thorn rode in silence.

They took turns guiding the wagons, the world ahead uncertain, the weight of what lay behind us heavy on our shoulders. He was still out there, watching from a long distance now.

And far away, in a castle wrapped in steam and stone, power was being reclaimed.