Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Kong
I’m out of my mind.
I was already exhausted, not having slept much since the night in her room when I brushed her hair.
That fucking tranq is stripping me down.
Hack’s bullets are strong enough to take down an Endigo man. A mutant and by-product of the Gene Age, when we engineered a supreme species over hundreds of years. Endigos are the scraps of this era, some men in the ruins are monstrous and volatile—insane.
I try to hold steady as she walks slowly in front of me, back toward her suite.
Even painted from head to toe in gold, I would know her anywhere.
Would recognise the cautious way she strolls, treating the floor as though it can’t be trusted.
I’d recognise the forced way she tilts her chin, never level with the ground, always slightly higher, always stiff. Her movements slight, graceful—fearful.
I’d recognise her anywhere.
Across her back, her shoulder blades are pronounced, like trim, fragile wings, and my hands clench to touch her. I could cover her back from blade to blade with one of my palms. My queen is tiny.
Control. Restrain.
All rational thought and level-headedness went up in billows of smoke the moment she put that strawberry ball between her lips and sucked on it.
Then when that prick stepped in front of her, all I felt was the pulse of my possessiveness wrestling with the tranq in my bloodstream.
Had I been clear-minded, I would never have touched her, would never have stepped into that stack with her, would have never spoken to her.
Held her gaze as Essen came, imagined it was—us.
No, I would have turned my back on the scene.
Her shield and her solace—not her damn owner— and let her watch or do as she wishes…
I growl, fisting my hands.
That isn’t what was happening? Was it? Was she there to fuck Bled and Essen? Has my little queen actually been with a man? She has been acting—interested.
And I can’t seem to think straight, can’t seem to control my territorial rage.
Fuck Bled.
Prick.
By the time we are striding through her wing, purple walls shoulder to shoulder, my heart is bruising my ribcage and my limbs are heavier than ever.
“You are drunk.” Stopping at the door to her suite, she faces me. “You are heavier on your feet. What has happened?”
Fuck. “I am not drunk, little queen.”
“Don’t little queen, me.” She huffs, and I sigh—it’s adorable, it’s everything. Her attitude feeds my soul. “Not now. If you’re not drunk, then why are you acting so peculiar?”
I can’t help but smile at that, loving when she is curt and strong, a version of herself she shows me, but struggles to throw at anyone else. “Hack was a hack,” I offer.
She studies me. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” I swing open the door and gesture for her to enter. “Time to sleep.”
She takes two steps inside, with that veil of confidence she fits to her soul, and fuck— My feet trail her into the suite.
I close the door with a click, spanning my hand open on the wood, wrestling with my muscles to open it again and leave.
But I don’t.
Her chambers are large, fully furnished, sparkling clean, with synthetic greenery keeping the air crisp and artificial. The time-fire flickers away, making the occasional comforting crack.
She hasn’t moved.
I look at her.
She shuffles in the moment of pause. “I have to get all this paint off first.”
I imagine helping her.
Fuck me.
She gazes up at me the same way she did in the stacks. Is she imagining it, too? My hands on her body, washing the gold from her flesh, exposing her flawless skin.
Her fingers flex as if she wishes to reach out and touch something—me. “You look...”
“Tired.” I nod and step backward, adding space, or else I might... I might.
I can’t.
She is The Queen of The Cradle. Innocent. Pure. I would be tainting her, forcing her to break her vows, breaking my own, destroying her for my own pleasure.
I’m not worthy.
No man is.
That is the point.
“I am tired,” I state, voice rough with restraint and exhaustion.
Pain flashes in her pretty eyes. "That's fine,” she says, turning her back on me. “I'll stay in bed until Ana comes to collect me in the first-light. Looking at the time-fire, it is near.”
“I can’t trust you to stay in bed.”
“I will!” She strides to her ensuite, enters, and closes the door with a slight bang. “Leave,” she calls through the wall, her breath hiccupping along the word.
I’ve fucked up.
Like an idiot, I don’t leave.
As the shower turns on, I sit on the edge of her bed and massage my forehead. I stroke the tension, the vein popping up along my temple, wishing I could massage my erection away just as easily.
I feel it everywhere.
My cock is throbbing with my pulse, the power of it in my ears, under my skin, up my neck. The need to be inside her is in every heartbeat, in every pump of blood.
There are splashing sounds coming through the ensuite door, the time-fire is red, and we are alone in unfamiliar circumstances.
My eyes are heavy by the time the shower switches off. I stand and walk to the door, press my back against it, and slide down to the floor. Inside. Inside her fucking suite.
This isn’t good.
I should leave.
She steps out of the ensuite in her nightgown, honey-coloured hair half-dried, a river of silky strands down her back. She freezes when she sees me on the floor. Yep, out of my fucking mind.
“You didn’t leave…”
Fuck me.
“I can’t be sure you won’t go wandering again,” I say, half a lie, half the truth. “And as you pointed out, little queen, I’m not quite myself.”
“You can’t sit there all night.”
“I can and I will.”
Her gaze sweeps to the bed, her breathing becoming so heavy I swear I feel the needy warmth from over here. “Just this once…”
Just this once, what?
I follow her line of sight to the bed and back to where she shuffles, barefoot, naked slim legs, trim flawless figure, fuck.
“No, little queen, there has already been a once, and it ended badly.”
Her gaze cuts to me. “Badly?”
“I didn’t mean—"
“I command it!” She squares her shoulders, feigning contempt. “I will not have you sleeping on the floor like a dog.”
My hooded eyes slide to the large mattress, but my focus and attention is arrested by the throbbing of my pulse and the feverish blood expanding my cock.
If she understood men; she would not be commanding this. Sometimes, I imagine she knows exactly what she is asking for, that she wants me to claim her, would risk it all for one night, but it is a lie I tell myself. And I wouldn’t risk it all; I wouldn’t risk her! “I'm your Guardian, little—"
"I know! So, guard me."
I growl. “As you wish.”
What the fuck did I just say?