Chapter 25
twenty-five
brIAR
A harsh wind rattles the rosebushes surrounding my balcony.
In the pre-dawn dim, I can barely make out the buds. Most of them are still green, but a few early bloomers shudder in the cold autumn breeze. A handful of white petals fall to the stone floor.
I turn away, grumbling obscenities as I pound a fist into my pillow. It’s no use, though. I’ve been trying to sleep for more than four hours.
The slick heat between my legs refuses to ebb. And I refuse to touch myself while thinking about Rhys Fucking Blackwood.
Absolutely not, I say for the millionth time, cutting off my Omega’s beseeching whine. We hate him.
Even if his cum tasted like an herbaceous version of literal heaven.
Well, what little of it he deigned to give me, anyway. Instead of coming in my mouth, he chose to paint my front.
I washed him off with a cold shower. Somehow, that only seemed to highlight just how hot and ready my pussy was. And no amount of deep breathing, self-scolding, or mindless reading has helped.
It isn’t just the arousal. A staccato buzz beats in my veins, fighting its way to the surface of my skin.
The sensation started when Rhys wound his long fingers into my hair. Or, if I’m honest, the night before—the moment Dane grabbed my chin and turned my face for a scent-mark.
I’m not stupid. I know touch starvation is basically a given, at this point… I just refuse to admit it.
My Omega, on the other hand…
We could always—
She doesn’t get a chance to finish the thought before I shove upright, fumbling for the robe on the nightstand.
Screw this.
If I stay in bed any longer, I’ll give in. And I won’t be able to live with myself if I get off to thoughts of a man who choked me out with a belt and his dick simultaneously.
Dear God, why does that memory make me perfume every time?
I’m losing my mind, I decide, stomping to the suite’s double doors. There’s no other possible explanation.
Honestly, in my current state of emotional exhaustion, a little mental breakdown sounds a lot like a vacation.
But I suppose it’s worth at least trying a snack and a glass of water first.
“Going somewhere?”
I jump a foot in the air, gasping so hard it makes me dizzy. A shadow near the hallway’s curve melts off the wall. Forming a shape I’m all too familiar with.
My husband steps into the faint glow of a nearby sconce. Unlike Rhys, he hasn’t undressed at all. His pinstriped suit and stark white tie are every bit as pristine as they looked yesterday.
Not that I noticed.
Cillian’s stance remains casual as he slides a hand into his pocket. But his bright-blue eyes glitter. So stupidly handsome, I feel a fresh burst of slick slip from my core.
“Y-you’re up early,” I stammer.
His lips curve ruefully. “Never went to bed, I’m afraid.”
I remember Fiona saying they often work late and sleep in. For some reason, my chest gives a strained pinch. “You shouldn’t stay up this late,” I scold, my hands finding my hips. “It isn’t healthy.”
For the first time since he lifted my veil at the altar, my husband actually smiles. It’s brief, and somewhat reluctant, but the sincerity of it scrapes my very soul.
He shrugs as if he didn’t just dazzle me within an inch of my life. “Guess I need better motivation to come to bed, wife.”
This time, my core clamps so violently, I swear he must be able to hear the wet squelch of my pussy. Especially when the genuine delight falls off his face, leaving unreadable intensity in its wake.
His gaze flickers to my center, then slowly climbs back up my torso. It pauses on my hand. “I’ve noticed you don’t wear your ring,” he murmurs, icy eyes snapping back to mine. “Do you not like it?”
It’s as genuine a question as any I’ve ever heard him utter. So much so, the odd pinch in my chest blooms into a full-blown ache.
I hate it. And I hate him for causing it. Almost as much as I hate that I do like the stupid ring he picked out. Enough that I hid it from myself the moment I got here and very purposefully tried to forget about it.
I scoff, still a bit too breathless to sound blasé. “Like it? The ring I received when I was forced to marry you? You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
It isn’t a lie. He, of all people, can appreciate omitting the truth when it suits you.
Still, I find myself inexplicably leaning forward when he opens his mouth to reply. Physically hanging off his every word—or, in this case, simply the possibility of hearing his thoughts.
But a different sound interrupts.
The haunting strains of a lone violin.
Cillian turns to stone, listening. After one melancholy movement tumbles into another, the pack alpha’s head snaps back, bright eyes flying to the ceiling.
Because the music we hear is definitely coming from the forlorn music room I discovered upstairs.
And it’s beautiful.
Cillian listens for a long time. Whole minutes. When he finally turns back to me, his expression has a new emotion woven through its impassivity. His voice rasps, betraying an undercurrent of urgency. “You saw Rhys tonight? He came to you?”
Oh shit.
Is that Rhys? And does Cillian think I have something to do with this?
Wait.
Do I have something to do with it?
Damn. Did I break venom already??
When I manage a lightheaded nod, Cillian’s jaw clenches. The first song ends, the notes climbing to a frantic crescendo before Rhys launches straight into a new melody. My husband glances up again, true bewilderment crossing his features.
“He hasn’t played the violin in years.”
I’m not sure if I’m even supposed to hear the words, but they shock me. I’ve always loved music—it was one of the few subjects our father allowed us to study and, after Violet was taken, the one way I felt connected to her. Not to mention my time in the ballet.
So I feel fairly confident when I whisper, “He’s incredibly talented.”
Cillian’s shoulders drop slightly. “Yes,” he answers, equally quiet. “He must be—” The alpha cuts himself off, shaking his head.
“It’s very late,” he notes, almost as if chastising himself. “Now isn’t the time for discussions. Besides, you and I will have plenty of time together tomorrow.”
Oh God. He’s right.
My husband starts to turn away, but pauses, roaming his gaze over my body more intently. “I’ll leave something out for you to wear,” he adds, his chest rumbling on a slight growl. “In the meantime, you might want to see if Dane can help you with that.”
He jerks a final nod and disappears, leaving me alone as a damning drop of slick slides down my thigh.