CHAPTER 101: ONE HUNDRED & ONE

"Not yet."

Those two damned words have haunted me all day.

As if despising that I’d turned her down last night wasn’t enough, Valka has made it her mission to drive me insane, reminding me of that decision every time she walks past wearing something she has no business wearing.

First, it was breakfast. She waltzed in wrapped in a sheer black shift that hid absolutely nothing. The guards had to turn away or lose their eyes, because I would’ve torn them out myself if they so much as blinked twice in her direction.

And when I didn’t stop glaring at her dress, wondering what hellhole she’d dragged it out of, she had the audacity to blink up at me, all wide-eyed innocence, and ask if I was feeling alright.

Alright.

How the fuck was I supposed to feel alright when my cock was throbbing hard enough to hurt, when every breath she took stirred something in me that was half hunger, half madness? When I couldn’t touch her because it all lingers fresh in my mind, my veins, dulling my control, sharpening the beast’s edge beneath my skin? Fight. Fuck. Fight. Fuck.

A few minutes ago, she walked into the study. And I swear to every god who’s ever lived, I couldn’t recall a single thing about the meeting happening around me after that.

She is clad in a soft pink dress, like rosewater and sin, clinging to every curve before spilling to the floor in a lazy ripple of silk. The light catches it with every move, turning the fabric almost liquid, part blush, part temptation.

The bodice is laced in gold, tight enough to shape her waist, and pearls trace the low neckline, drawing my gaze to the hollow of her slender throat. The sleeves slip off her shoulders, and when she breathes, the silk shifts, teasing, revealing creamy shoulders and the swell of breasts just enough to drive me mad.

Her fingers flip over the pages of a book and a coy smile lifts on her full mouth, dipped in blood red today. She crosses her legs, and the fabric falls away at a slit so high, if I stared long enough, I’d see the edge of her thighs. Maybe more.

From under long lashes, her amber eyes flick to mine, catching me staring, and the little witch returns her gaze to the book, flipping onto the next page, giggling at something on its pages and sucking in her bottom lip, before releasing it with a small ’umph’.

Fuck, I’m dying.

"Sire?"

Valka’s free hand runs along the length of her thigh, slowly, nails coated in pink polish scraping against her skin. My fingers tighten on the missive I’m holding until the parchment crumples in my grip. And turns to tiny shards of ice.

And then, she lifts the skirts of the dress, just enough to cover the bared skin again. I should feel relief. I don’t. It’s torture. It’s the burn of ice and flame, eating me alive from the inside.

A throat clears somewhere in the room.

I snap my head up. "What?"

The word cuts sharp enough to make everyone flinch and Nath steps forward, a little pale. It is then I realize the table is encased in ice. "The scroll to be sent to the docks, sire," he says, giving the ruined parchment in my hands a pointed look.

I clear my throat slightly, dipping the quill into the ink and grabbing a fresh parchment. "Chances are the messages will be intercepted by Voss or Silvermoor if we send them through Tellere. Hence, we’ll four birds through Tellere, one through the Gulf and the last over the docks at Sans."

"Why four through Tellere if they will intercept it anyway?"

Nath responds, "Because he wants them to."

Rafael Draemir is about to learn the hard way why they call me the Dark King in these lands and across the seas. He really shouldn’t have fucked with Valka. I have been forced to learn patience in my thousand years of living and I have none where that woman is concerned.

That’s not to say I wasn’t a little impressed by the piece of shit. Singlehandedly turning an entire kingdom against my kind, thinking so far ahead as to blockade the paths so we had nowhere to run to... absolutely, wickedly clever.

It is what I would have done.

Much as I hated to admit it, I do have wonderful genes.

Another giggle draws my attention to Valka and I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose anymore. Her legs are tucked underneath her and she’s nibbling slightly on her nails. "Oh, he didn’t," she says, before laughing herself hoarse.

A small smile tips up my lips. I still didn’t understand how anyone got anything done when their wives and mates were around them. It was like this with Ilya. And as much pain as it brings me to even think of it, I embrace it. Because Valka taught me decades ago that pushing it away never helped. Grief wasn’t something that ever left. It stayed. Even with the years, it’ll always stay.

"Loss is inevitable," she once said to me. "You wear yours like armor. Hide behind it because it’s easier than forgiving yourself and letting them go. You punish yourself because feeling pain is the only thing that makes you believe you’ll ever be able to absolve yourself of the guilt. But you don’t carry that guilt for them. You carry it for you. The precious memories you shared with them, you have turned into your own prison. You consider that loyalty? Dying slowly with their ghosts? No. That is rather selfish, because even now, wherever they are, they’ll know no peace because you have refused to lay them to rest. You have refused to live, like they would’ve wanted you to."

I hand the finished scrolls to Nath. "You understand how important these are. There can be no mistakes."

He nods, pulling the rest of the guards with him at my wave. I rise from my seat, peering over at Valka, and she doesn’t notice my presence until I am leaning directly over her, peering into the cover of the bawdy tale.

"The Milk-maiden and The Monster?"

She shuts the book, hiding it from me. I don’t tell her she’s read it only a hundred times, all of which included her retelling me about the monster romance whilst laying on my chest and braiding knots into my hair. "It is rude to snoop." She looks around, eye brows rising in surprise at the empty hall. "That was swift."

I shrug, dropping into the couch opposite of her. "Just a few letters drafted to a couple of old friends to call in a few favours."

She looks at me with suspicion. "Friends. You have friends."

I nod, resting my chin against my fist. "Plenty. Though I suppose those buried six feet under don’t count. Let’s call them... necessary acquaintances."

She gives me that look, the one that says she knows I’m full of shit. "And the people we’re going to see across the seas are those acquaintances?"

"Correct." I run my tongue over my fangs out of habit, to hide the clench of my jaw as the strap of her dress slips over her shoulder again. "Though, as you must know, most men my age rather despise being visited unannounced. So we must wait to hear back from them before journeying out again."

"How long will that take?"

"Weeks. At most, a month--"

"A month?!" she exclaims, sitting forward so abruptly, her chest bounces, distracting me again. I avert my gaze to her face and it really isn’t any better. Her hair is styled in curls that cling against her forehead and her cheek in a wet look, falling over one shoulder like waves. "We don’t have a month. Rafael’s army--"

"Will need to coalesce. More weapons will need to be made from the mines of Voss for each man. Shields will need to be built against our particular strength to block the effect of our powers. Funding will be needed. Wars don’t just happen, Valka," I explain. "Wars require planning and the Draemir boy will march only when he is sure he has all the cards that will bring him victory."

Her cheeks get so flushed when she’s into an argument. "While we sit here and do nothing? Evadne and Trenton are heading back home to gather an army. And we’re sitting pretty, waiting to get invited to a tea party?"

"Patience," I purr slowly. "A response from even one of them and we’ll have an armada, a fleet to fight with us. And all it requires is patience. There are men across the seas who have lived longer than I. We love to draw out the games, seeing who will give in first." I lean back in my seat. "And we won’t be doing nothing. We will train whilst we wait."

She blinks, scowling. "I’m not getting in a training ring with you."

A smirk curves my lips. "Well then, a different, more condusive location can be arranged. You all but need to say the word."

She blushes and I wonder if she realises she’s curling her hair around her fingertips. She doesn’t, because she catches herself and puts her hand down on her lap. "I mean, I’ve seen you fight. I have no interest in getting bludgeoned to death."

"You have better chances getting tongue-fucked into oblivion than getting killed off by me."

Her jaw drops.

"I’m saying you’re safe with me," I add smoothly. "You’re a wonderful form and a good fighter, Valka. In the past, you might have had me ruffled in a match, but somewhere in the years you were gone, your muscles forgot. And while I’m sure you relearned to fight in those camps in Silvermoor, I assure you, there’s a greater deal of potential you have, waiting to be rediscovered. That applies also to your powers. Without a real challenge, it’ll continue to lay dormant."

Her lips purse. "I can’t seem to... bring it out at will. My powers. I’m not sure how training will help with that."

"There is much to learn how the Lycan autonomy, and we’ll take it one day at a time. Your body hasn’t fully adjusted yet, but I’m sure it will in the coming days, and it’ll come a little easier. The enhanced strength. The speed. Shifting, too." My fingers drum against the armrest thoughtfully. "As for your whispering, that is a little tricky. We will need to implement a subject to carry that aspect out on."

She jumps to her feet immediately. "I’m not experimenting on people!"

"No," I smile. "Not people. Me."