I stare at the woman whose face is reflected in the cracked mirror. Something inside me tells me I am right. The sooner I put this plan in action, the faster I can find a grip on my destiny, find a way to help my clan. All without telling him. If I tell him the real reason I am here, he’ll only find a way to get to my clan, many of whom are omegas like me. He’d make them join his harem, and I am not that stupid.
No, I need to play him at his own game.
He wants an omega? A meek woman? A breeder? I’ll become that. I’ll throw him off my track, then find a way to get what I want. I must bide my time until I find a weakness and then I am going to kill him…break the bond he forced on me.
The mating cord writhes at the thought, sending a shudder of pain so sharp that I double over. My body cannot stand the thought of him dying. Every second I am here with him, in his room, every time he fucks me, cares for me, makes me think of him, the bond only deepens. I need to kill him before the bond becomes so strong that his dying would kill me, too. I have no intention of dying, not like this.
Turning, I walk to the shower closet, wrench the door open, and step in. The water is blissfully hot, and I let it pour over me, let it clean away the residue of the various times he took me.
My skin is so sensitive that the water sliding over it sends a shiver of need coursing through me.
The wound at the base of my neck where he bit me throbs. I had avoided looking at the broken skin in the mirror. Trying to deny what he’d done to me. I needn’t have bothered.
The wound softens under the water and pulses with need. It seems to be calling for its maker to touch it, caress it, and soothe away the pain. The cord in my chest pulses, and a dense plume of heat flushes my skin. I imagine I hear his purring, feel his massive chest at my back, his arm a steel band around my waist, sliding up until his big palm cups my breast, tweaking my nipple.
His other palm slides down to part my lower lips. He drags his fingers through the folds, slipping into my wet, needy channel. Heat coils low, tightening my belly, and I lean forward to rest my forehead against the wall.
His presence only follows me. His big body shields me from the shower. His lips touch the claiming marks—he licks it, his saliva sealing the wound. The pain recedes and is replaced by pure primal greed. For him. To take me all over again. It shouldn’t be possible to want him again. Not after the number of times, he’s taken me already.
Not after I’d allowed myself to be used over and over again. And not after my heat cycle has simmered to an end, and yet here I am, in the shower imagining he is here with me and…
“You can’t shut me out.” His breath shudders over the shell of my ear.
The hair on my nape rises. It was him all along. He’d been here with me, and I’d known it and yet I’d tried to ignore it. Hoping if I pretended enough, he wouldn’t actually be here…if I tried enough, I’d forget everything that had happened to me.
I sense his presence pull at me through the bond, feel his need seep through my blood, my soul, and I know then, as much as I pretend, things will never be the same. That I can’t hide from him, or from myself. He places his palm over my hand, then spreads my fingers flush against the shower wall before doing the same with the other.
Trailing his hands over my arms, he traces the lines toward my back, down my spine to the curve of my hips.
I sense him sink to his knees, then he licks the swell of my butt to where the cheeks part in the middle.
Desire thuds at my nerves. I feel the blood rush to my face and huh, why am I blushing now? He’s already done so much to my body, he knows every inch of my skin, and yet as he parts my butt cheeks and slips his tongue into the puckered hole there, I find my muscles clenching. I press my fingers into the stone wall. His arm wraps around my front, and he skims his fingers through my core, his touch gentle, almost comforting. He thrusts a thumb into my soaking channel, and I moan, my lower belly stuttering then unfurling. He moves his other arm up to cup my breast, caress it, tweak it.
The first stirrings of a climax tremble up from my soles.
I shudder, and my knees quake. He seems to sense it, too, for he grips my hips and turns me around.
Before I can crack my eyes open, he spreads my thighs apart, then flips one of my legs over his shoulder.
Then he plunges his tongue into my wet core, sucking, nibbling, biting on my clit.
The climax surges up my spine and sweeps over my nape to break into little flickers of light behind my closed eyelids.
My other knee gives out from under me, and I slide down against the shower wall, only for him to rise, and prop me up. He wraps my legs around his waist, angles his hips and plunges into me, again and again.
I can’t stop myself from holding on to his broad shoulders, from burying my teeth into his shoulder, from groaning, moaning his name, and letting the slickness flow out to welcome him as his knot locks into place.
His groan echoes over the sound of the shower and he pours his very essence into me.
We stay that way, joined up until the water runs cold.
Then he flicks off the shower and, with him still inside me, steps out of the stall. He grabs a towel and covers me with it, running it over my back, my hair.
I cling to him, refusing to open my eyes, letting the tiredness tug me under, allowing him to care for me again. Knowing I must protest. Knowing I will take every last drop of concern he shows me, and hating myself anyway.
This time when sleep claims me, I embrace it just as I embrace the monster to whose chest I cling as I burrow into it.
When I wake, I am alone in bed.
I watch him as he works out in a corner of the room, naked from the waist up. Seeing the light that filters through the window to frame him, lighting the honey brown of his skin, tracing the scars that mark his back, the tattoos on his arms that move with each ripple of his muscle, I realize he is not only powerful but there is a certain poetry to how he moves. A fluidity. He goes through what is clearly a morning routine…a mix of tai chi and calisthenics and yoga, which seem easy to follow but I know must take complete concentration.
Sweat glistening on his shoulders, he finally stretches out. There’s a knock at the door, and the alpha I’d noticed when I’d broken into the Ascension ceremony walks in.
Zeus crosses the room and takes the tray of food from him. He shoves his considerable bulk in front of the other alpha, shutting out the room and me from sight.
They speak low enough that I cannot decipher the words. The man nods, then leaves without a glance in my direction.
When Zeus turns, his gaze locks with mine.
I expect him to command me to eat… To drink… To fuck… To sleep?
I brace myself for his touch, for him to show me again that he is more powerful, my alpha. Instead, he swaggers to the table by the window and slides the tray onto it. He slugs down half a bottle of water, then places it back on the table. He grabs up the vest that’s flung over the chair and shrugs it on, then drops into the chair. Reaching for the pot of coffee, he pours himself a cup.
A tangy, bitter aroma fills the space. My nostrils twitch, and my mouth waters.
He takes a sip of the steaming liquid and his eyes close in appreciation. My stomach growls. The bastard’s not going to offer it to me. I need to go there and get it for myself. I swing my feet over, looking around for clothes. There are none, except for a shirt that belongs to him. Standing, I reach for it, pull it on. It dwarfs me, and the fabric smells like him. It feels like I am wrapped up in layers of his essence. I open my mouth to protest then pause. I need him to think that I am accepting my situation. Crossing over, I slide into the chair opposite him.
“Good morning.” I pour myself a cup of coffee. So fucking civil. I sound so fake even to my own ears, he’s going to see right through me.
He nods at me over his cup.
Well, what do you know? He’s buying my act?
His lips curve up, and the skin around his eye’s crinkles. H
e’s been expecting me to fall in with his plans all along.
I curl my fingers around the cup and very much want to fling it at him. Instead, I lower it and place it carefully on the table.
Reaching for a buttery croissant, I drop one on his plate, then slide another onto mine and break it.
“I don’t trust this supplication from you.” He leans back in his chair. “What is it you really want, Lucia Erasmus, Czarina of Russia. Why are you really here?”
27
Lucy
I pause with the croissant halfway to my lips, and stare at him.
Spit drools from my open mouth.
For once, all of the graces instilled in me since childhood, since I was brought up as the treasured omega in the household of the Czar of Russia, desert me. But then it has been a long time since anyone has called me by my full name. The name which I’d hoped I’d left behind when I escaped from Russia.
I’d run away from the arrangement my father had in mind for me…straight into a bond with an alpha who is much more fearsome.
Why is it that everywhere I turn there is always a man who wants to hold me down, collar me, bond to me, make me feel like I am secondary, only an omega?
‘You’re not an average omega…’ My mother’s voice echoes in my ears. ‘You are a pure-born omega who carries in your blood the genes of the Russian royal family. The genes that guarantee your offspring will not only be strong but be resistant to most diseases, blessed with the ability to foresee, a kind of intuition that many would kill for.’
And yet I hadn’t foreseen my own future, that I would walk straight into this trap, have an alpha cage me, bond to me.
Or was that why I had brokered the deal with Kayden, knowing I couldn’t possibly trust the Scottish alpha? Knowing it would be a trap, that he was bound to claim me? No, even before. From the time I first heard my father mention Zeus’ name, talk about his prowess and how he’d taken over as General, I’d known an affinity for him right from then.
I had refused to accept it. Not until I’d walked into that grand hall and seen him and scented him and then…then there had been no turning back. I’d known then I was his.
“You…” The piece of croissant slips from my fingers and falls to the plate. “How long have you known?” I pick up the piece and pop it back into my mouth. I can’t taste it, yet I force myself to bite into it, chew it, then swallow.
Zeus tilts his head and surveys me with that steady gaze.
“Your second, he told you…” I don’t need to look at him to sense him nod his confirmation.
I reach for the coffee cup and drain it. And, damn it, I should be raging, or be afraid or throw a tantrum, or something. Yet all I feel is a strange calm.
I’d known it would come to this, had known inside, that from the time I’d walked into his stronghold, this confrontation was coming. Or perhaps it I’d lost every shred of feeling, of my identity, when I had gone into heat, had crawled into that bed with him and asked him to take me.
When my body had led the way forward and the rest of me had no choice but to follow.
When everything I’d learned about myself, my self-respect, my pride…all of it had been swept aside in that carnal need to mate. Because ultimately that’s what I am deep inside, a female whose omega instinct will always be in the lead.
“Don’t you have anything else to say for it?” His voice is low, his gaze steady. He hasn’t eaten anything on his plate so far either.
And I don’t know why that simple detail sticks in my head. Either he’s more upset than he’s letting on… Or, nope, can’t be that. He had a need, he sensed me, he wanted me, he took me. There’s nothing more to it than that. He can’t possibly be upset about the fact that my identity was a surprise to him.
“You don’t seem surprised?” I want to be as casual as him and reach for the rest of the croissant, but my stomach suddenly feels heavy, my guts lurching. I lean back and rub my forearms.
“Should I be?” He places his elbows on the table.
“Shouldn’t you?” I raise my eyes and meet his gaze.
His cheekbones stand out in relief. Some of the color has faded from his face. It only makes his features look more austere, more brooding. He seems strong and powerful and formidable. Waves of tension roll off him. I sense a pulse of heat and something else… A spark of anger rolls down the mating bond; it tugs at my nerve endings. I wriggle around in my chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. I shouldn’t feel so guilty, I shouldn’t. I am not the one at fault. I am only trying to do right by my clan, aren’t I? Then why does his very presence make me feel like I tried to pull a fast one on him? That I lied to him?
“I did not...” Only when I hear the words aloud do I realize I have spoken.
He angles his head. His eyes darken into flints of ice. So cold. So terrifying.
He can be far more formidable than he’s alluded to.
He’d taken me against my will and yet he’d also cared for me. He’d made sure to rut me through the cycle, had never hit me or abused me. Why am I making excuses for this monster? It still doesn’t negate the fact that he’d killed some of his own men, taken me from the court to his room, and he’s kept me here since.
“You were saying?” His fingers drum next to his plate. Fingers with clean-cut nails, long, lean fingers that have been inside me, that have known exactly which part of me to press against, which part to arouse and bring to climax.
My belly cramps, and I clench my thighs tighter. No, no… I can’t be turned on by just thinking of everything he’s done to me. And yet there is no mistaking the moisture that dampens between my thighs, that makes the shirttails stick to my underside.
He stiffens; his big shoulders bunch. His nostrils flare. The beast knows that I am turned on.
“It seems even though you are past your heat cycle your body still wants me.”
“I don’t.”
His lips curve up in a smirk. “The sweet musk of your arousal says otherwise.”
Hearing the words only turns me on further. A moan ripples up my throat, and I bite down on my lower lip to stifle it. “You shouldn’t say such things aloud,” I mumble, and heat flushes my cheeks.
His gaze widens. He watches me from under hooded eyelashes.
A spurt of heat tugs at my lower belly and I look away. I can’t meet his eyes, not without giving away how much I am feeling right now. And it’s lust, only lust.
The cord trembles against my rib cage, unfurling, sending a pulse of such need shooting down to my core. "Ah hell!” I huff out a breath.
There’s a low chuckle from him.
Bet if I look up I'll see a smirk tugging at his lips. The one that draws attention to his mouth, that makes me want to rake my fingers through his hair and drag his face down to nestle between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together. “It can’t go on like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like every time we have a conversation or if we are in the same space, there is this need to…to…”
“Fuck?” His voice is rough.
Sweat beads my palms. My toes curl. I squeeze my eyes shut, and try to block the sight of him from my head. That only heightens my other senses. My skin tightens. The hair on my forearms rise.
I sense his big body shift. Feel the heat roll off him and know he's crouched down in front of me. His legs brush mine and I try to slide back in my seat, but he only shifts his bulk in synchrony with me.
“Oh, what the hell are you playing at?” My eyelids fly open. Mistake. He's so close now, too close. He's within touching distance. The skin around his eyes tightens. A pulse tics at his temples. That complex woodsy scent of his bleeds into the air. Images of his hands on me, his lips on my mouth, of how hard he felt inside me. How good. How right. All of it crashes over me.
The force of his personality is a living breathing thing in the room. It pushes down on my chest, squeezing my rib cage. My shoulders hunch. “Don’t.” My voice breaks. That familiar ball
of emotion is heavy in my throat. “Not like this.” I ball my fingers into fists. My lips tremble.
His gaze falls to my mouth. His breath grows rougher.
He leans in close and the heat from his body slams into me. Dense clouds of warmth swirl over me, and sweat breaks out on my brow. Then, as I think that he’s going to pull me up—or worse…or better still, drag me to the floor, push aside my shirt, and take me right there—he moves.
28
Zeus
I am so close to her that I can see the little creases around her eyes. I can see the pores on her skin, the freckles on her nose, the creamy expanse of her throat; I want to lean in and touch to remind myself she is as soft as I remember her to be. Then her throat moves as she swallows. Nervousness and fear come off her in waves.
And that stops me.
When I had dragged her here and fucked her… It wasn’t completely against her will, for she had all but begged me to take her, but she was also in the high of her heat cycle then, had not been in her right mind, and her body had needed me. But now?
Her gaze is clear even as those green eyes burn with desire. Her body trembles. The sugary scent of her arousal fills the air. She presses her bare toes into the floor. Every part of her is eager for me, and yet she holds back.
“Don’t be afraid.”
She starts at my voice, her gaze flying to my face.
Her pupils have dilated again. She is more aroused than she realizes. A yearning flows to me down the mating bond.
It tugs at me, pleads with me to take her, yet I sense a resistance. A reluctance to give herself to me. I could overpower her and take her…but… No. I rise to my feet so fast that she gasps and pulls back into the chair. And she’s not meek—at the height of her heat cycle she fought me, she wanted me, but didn’t want to give in to me. It was only when the hormones had overridden every other part of her rational mind had she asked me to take her.
Fated Mates: Paranormal Romance Series Starters Boxset Page 46
