Goddamn it, why do I have to react to him this way? It’s like my body has a mind of its own.
Any second now, he’s going to pull me into his arms. He’ll start purring. Then he’ll growl. I’ll get wet, and he’ll rut and knot me and it’ll feel good, but nothing will be fixed.
“No,” I say, shaking him off before scrambling up off the furs. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess, but I manage it. “I don’t want to fuck. That’s not going to fix anything.”
His face, when I dare to glance at him, is set in a wounded yet stubborn expression. Like a petulant child who’s been told they can’t have another cookie.
“I’m freaking out, Hunter. I need to know what’s going on, and—” my throat clogs with tears, “I need you to talk to me. I know it's hard for you. I don't know what's going on and I'm so scared.” I fold my arms around my middle, squeezing tight. If I squeeze hard enough, maybe I won’t cry.
Hunter scoots closer to me and I back further away. “No. If you touch me, it's only going to lead to one thing and I just can't right now, Hunter. I can't.” I double over. His scent is so thick, I can taste it. The pain in my chest is almost debilitating. “Can you please just go get Sian? I need to talk to someone.”
My fight against tears isn’t working. I blink as Hunter rises up off the bed with his usual feline grace. He takes a step towards me, his hand outstretched. Another wave of his scent rolls through me, making me ache for him. “Hey-leah.”
A part of me relaxes. His hand closes on the nape of my neck, soothing me. I want to melt back against him. With a feeling like I’m tearing myself in two, I wrench myself away. “Get off me, you barbarian.”
Hunter stands with his hand frozen in midair, his blank face at odds with the sting knifing through my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I stutter, backing away. “I didn’t mean… I just want to be alone.” I rush into the bathing chamber—which, thank god, has a regular door. Slamming it shut behind me, I sink to the floor and put my face in my hands. Pain gnaws at my ribs. I can finally let the tears come.
My sobs echo around the bathing chamber. I cry and cry until I can’t cry anymore. I didn’t realize how much I was holding in, but it was obviously a lot. I’m on an alien planet, and I have no one to talk to. I care for someone whose name I don’t even know, who doesn’t seem to return my feelings. And tomorrow I might be given to that creepy Stone King—and if I don’t go, he might declare war on a bunch of innocent people. Am I willing to sacrifice myself for a kingdom? Will I even have a choice?
I wish I had someone to talk to. If I could get away to see the other humans; I’m sure it would help. Right now, though, the only other person I can think of who might be able to give me advice is Sian.
I don’t know how long I was in the bathing room, but when I return to the bedchamber, it’s empty.
Hunter has gone, just like I asked him to.
So why do I feel so hollow?
SIXTEEN
The Hunter King
Seeingthe hurt on my little lysia flower’s face made me feel like my chest was going to explode. To know I caused that hurt… I think death would be less painful.
And yet, when I wanted to explain, I couldn’t.
How could I tell her that she means everything to me? That when the Stone King talked about taking her, I vowed, then and there, to rip his face off?
The Stone King. What a pathetic excuse for an Alpha. For a king. For an Ulfarri. I do not fear that wretched, hideous creature, or his snake army.
I protected the people of Arboron when I was barely grown. I will do it again, if necessary, and again, and again… until I breathe my last. No, the thought of a Slythin attack does not scare me.
But the thought of losing my Haley…
That is unbearable.
I could run, and keep her in the forest. Leave the kingdom to its own devices. But she would not like living in the wild.
Barbarian, she called me.
I must make things right. Remove the lines of sorrow from her beautiful face. I summoned Sian as she asked, and now I am standing vigil outside the palace.
Brokk finds me standing at a firepit, staring into the flames. The smoke swirls around me, clogging my senses. I heard but did not scent his approach.
My second-in-command squats near the fire. He produces a bottle of wine and a large horn. For once, I do not care about the taste that my Omega describes as vinegar steeped in old shoes. I toss back the horn Brokk hands me, and accept the bitter burn in my throat. Once it’s empty, I return it to him and he fills it again.
Until I met my Omega, I never felt a true bond with another in the sense that they have become my world, my stars and my moons, but I have always had a true supporter in Brokk. He talks too much, but unlike the councilors who talk too much and say so little, his words have weight and meaning. He is one of the few I listen to.
