CHAPTER 106: ONE HUNDRED & SIX

(Note. This may seem a little distorted, because Valka is a little out of it.)

Valka

I’m on heat.

It’s been days--three... maybe four--and time has stopped meaning anything. I wake in Lucien’s bed and I never really leave it. The world outside our room doesn’t exist. I eat when he reminds me to. I bathe only because he carries me to the water and washes my skin. Clothes feel wrong, too hot, too tight, a nuisance, like a barrier between me and the only thing that eases the ache. So, I thrash them.

He never makes me put them back on, even if it distracts him. He has to leave in the mornings to take care of things--kingly duties--but when he sees me tangled in his sheets naked, my thighs parted and my lip caught between my teeth, he abandons everything.

When he’s gone, hours pass in a haze of hunger. My whole day fractures into two halves. The time before he returns and the time after. I can’t do anything. Can’t train. Can’t practice. Can’t function. Until he comes back to me.

Every sound beyond the door could be him, and my pulse leaps each time, greedy and helpless. The sheets smell like him. So does my skin. I should be ashamed of how badly I need it, but the fever is far greater than any shame.

Lucien had explained why this was happening. The changes. The bond. It made sense when he left his lips. But he had been naked while he was explaining. And I don’t remember any of the things he said.

All I know is how he makes me feel. What his fangs, teeth and hands do to me. Most especially, the heavy weight between his legs. Sometimes, I thirst for it. Sometimes, he lets me kiss it, suck it. In those moments, he calls me sweetheart. The endearment is a form of mockery. Because there is nothing sweet about me.

But it doesn’t matter. Because when his hips buck and he strains against my throat, fucking it with unforgivable thrusts, I feel like the more powerful being of us two.

He breaks. He always does.

He pulls out of my mouth and pushes inside me. And I am whole again. He is strong. Large. Exotic. He never tires, is never spent. Even when I fall asleep, he watches me, traces his name into my spine with claw tips, and when it heals, he repeats the action.

Sometimes, we fight.

When he asks me questions that make my head hurt. He wants me to remember, because I’ve begun forgetting more these days. We fight harder on the days I have nose bleeds. Because on those days, I don’t remember Valka. Or Eldric. Or Malachy.

The last name upsets me a lot. Because he pushes on that memory more than the most.

"You said you loved him," Lucien says. "Do you remember nothing of what it felt like? You said he made you feel human and less of a monster."

I wrench the sheets off my body. "I don’t want to talk about another man when I’m in bed with you!"

Large hands clasp my cheeks, forcing me to look in those eyes that I cannot run or shy away from. "Why ’Valka’? Why that name?"

A horrid sob begins shaking my body. "I don’t know!"

He doesn’t relent this time. His thumbs press harder against my temples. "What happened when you fell over the cliff, *Lyra*?"

"You know what happened!" I cry. "She took control of my body! People died!"

The pain in my head triples to an excruciating level. He finally relents, kissing the corner of my mouth.

Relief floods me, and I am all too happy to discard the useless memory when he lifts into his arms and sits me on his groin. My breasts are in his face and his expression shifts from that darkness to lust.

Lust, I can comprehend. Lust, I perfectly understand.

"I don’t want to lose you again," he says. I don’t know what the hell is talking about. I’m right here. I could never leave him. Where would I go? He is home. He has always been home.

He claims me. Fast. Hard. Hungry.

Then he leaves. He’s angry. Not at me. But he’ll come back. He always does. He can’t stay away from me for too long. When he does, I’m waiting by the door, or the floor, on my knees, sometimes on my knees and hands.

A small part of me knows that when this heat subsides, I’ll be mortified. But I don’t care for it. I don’t care for after, later. I only care for here, now.

He presses his back against the door. "You’re driving me nuts, Val."

I lick my lips. "Nuts. I want yours."

"Fuck," he groans.

That word, I am completely on board with. "Yes, please."

He is on me in a second, his fangs scrapping along my shoulder, piercing skin, marking me again and again.

We’ve broken the bed. And the dresser. The tall windows are cracked. The floor seems to be the safest option. I like it on the floor. It makes me feel every bit as much of an animal as he does.

I am struck by how perfectly we fit. How perfect he is. How strong he is. More importantly, I am amazed by his obsession with me. At how much I excite him, how his strong, powerful body always responds to my touch. Our sex is rough, always desperate, carnal and volatile.

I don’t ever want him to stop being inside me. I want him to carve a temple inside me and worship there forever.

But he must always speak more of that nonsense when he comes back. Most times, I shut him up with my mouth. Distract him with my tongue, but on days like today, he keeps distance from me, refusing to touch me.

"Seriously, Valka," Lucien grumbles. "Try again."

I pout. "I don’t want to." I pat the sheets beside me. "Come back to bed."

We’ve been trying for hours to get me to whisper. To compel him. It’s a simple command. Kneel. But I’m getting tired of the word ’again’, as I have failed woefully today at getting any of my commands across. Still, how can he be so serious about this when I’m naked and wet in front of him?

"Not until you get it right," he growls, but he’s staring at my ass.

I turn around fully and arch it in the air. "Please?"

He curses. "I can’t tell if I prefer you this way."

But he doesn’t move any closer. "Compel me."

I don’t say a word. He’ll break first. He likes my ass way too much to refuse it.

His jaw tightens and he sighs, like I am insufferable. "It’d make my cock very hard if you forced me to my knees, Valka."

My ears perk up at that and a sheepish smile spread on my cheeks as I straighten and settle back on my knees, reaching beneath me easily for that kernel of power. "Kneel."

I feel the undercurrent of magic in the air, and just because it is all I can think of, I add, "Shut up and fuck me."

Lucien’s pupils expand, but he shakes off the command with a right and left cut of his head. "No."

I don’t like being told ’no’. It upsets me. I pout, but my mouth twists into a knowing smile because I know him. I know what gets him. I lay back on his pillows, hair tumbling about my like an halo. I reach between my legs, spine arching in anticipation, and just as I bury my fingers deep inside me, I feel the weight of him settle over me, grabbing my wrist and pinning it over my head. "Stop trying to control me. I don’t appreciate it."

He’s hard against me, hot and ready, the thick head of him pressing right where I ache most. I roll my hips, guiding him to my entrance. "You asked me to compel you."

He hisses sharply, hips bucking as I take in an inch of him. "We both know that’s not what I meant."

My nipples tighten as they rub against his chest, but he holds me still, pinning a hand to my waist before I can take him any deeper. I growl deep in my chest. "You want it. I want it. What is the problem?"

His eyes fix on my lips and his muscles bunch as he keeps from leaning in. "The problem is, I cannot tell if you’re in there anymore. If it is Valka I’m fucking, or Ilya."

I’m upset again. Why does it matter who it is? I’m a woman. He’s a man. He can give me what I want. "It doesn’t matter--"

His hold on my wrist tightens. "What is your name?"

My brow furrows. "Whatever you call me."

He stiffens. "Who am I to you?"

"My Prince," I answer easily.

He releases my wrist and grips the side of my face instead, his thumb brushing my temple as his eyes search mine. "Valka would never call me that."

Something in his expression fractures. The violet of his eyes bleeds into black, darkness swirling. "I’m sorry," he says, voice cracking as the command rips through the air. "Get the fuck out of her head, Ilya."

The words hit like a physical force, layered, ancient, primal. Something thrashes inside me, clawing and screaming, and the world goes black.