His teeth scrape against my pulse point, and I forget what I was going to say.
The more ruthless he is, the happier I am. Every rough touch, every possessive grip, every mark he leaves on my skin, they all remind me that I am his. That he is mine. That nothing and no one can take this from us.
His free hand makes quick work of the rest of our clothing, fabric tearing and falling away. Heat pools low in my belly, my pulse racing as his mouth trails lower.
Then, out of the blue, he stops. Freezes completely, his forehead dropping to rest against my collarbone. His breathing is ragged, his body tense.
“Kieran?” I ask breathlessly, confused.
“My people,” he says unevenly, “are patrolling the hallway. After that exchange in the throne room, I ordered them to stand guard.”
Oh.
Disappointment crashes through me, sharp and immediate. I sense how much he wants this, wants me. But I also sense his awareness of his warriors just outside the door, his responsibility to maintain some semblance of control.
“I can hear their footsteps,” he continues, sounding strained. “Their heartbeats. Everything.”
I close my eyes, trying to steady my own racing heart. Of course he can. He’s an alpha. His senses are far sharper than mine.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He lifts his head to look at me, and the regret in his gaze makes my chest ache. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I smile at him even though I’m still pinned against the door, my body still humming with unfulfilled need. “You’re protecting me. I understand.”
His expression softens slightly, and he releases my wrists. His hands come up to frame my face, gentle now, so different from the wildness moments ago.
“Tomorrow,” he says quietly, “I’ll send them to the far end of the wing.”
Despite everything, I let out a laugh. It’s a little shaky, but it’s genuine.
“Tomorrow,” I agree.
He kisses me again, but this time it’s slow. Tender. A promise rather than a claim.
When he pulls back, he carefully tugs the torn edges of my shirt together, though there’s no saving it now. Then, he lifts me into his arms and carries me over to the bed.
He lays me down gently and stretches out beside me, pulling me against his chest. Tension still thrums through his body with frustration that mirrors my own.
But there’s also depth beneath it.
Safety. Protection. Love.
“I won’t let them have you,” he whispers against my hair, his voice hoarse. “I’ll kill every last one of them first.”
I know he means it. I sense the truth of it.
My hand comes up to rest over his heart, and I feel the steady beat beneath my palm. “I know.”
His arms tighten around me, and he takes a shuddering breath.
We stay like that for a long moment, wrapped around each other, our connection pulsing warm and steady despite the interrupted passion, despite the bedlam waiting for us outside this room.
We have a week before the next Council meeting. A week to find a way out of this nightmare. A week to figure out how to refuse Theodore’s demands without starting a war.
But tonight, right now, being held like this is enough.
It has to be.
