Chapter 15
Valentina
Brax's sharp scowl could scrape across bone. He breathes through his nose, his shoulders tight, dark eyes pinned on me.
My pulse misfires from my reckless declaration, but when there's an opportunity in the Underworld, you take it.
And it's not just a normal Omni seat. It's one on the Royal Council.
All the years of waiting to take my rightful spot will be worth it.
I'll skip right to my final destination without any more tests.
I'm marrying Brax.
He crosses his arms, demanding through gritted teeth, "I'm waiting."
I can't blame him for being angry. I locked us into something irreversible. But I also won't apologize. He's going to get all the benefits of being on the Royal Council.
I step closer, rise on my tiptoes, and whisper in his ear, "We'll talk about this in private." I take a step back.
He grabs me by the ass, tugs me back into him, and slides his hand through my hair. He holds me to his body, knocking the wind out of my lungs, and murmurs, "We sure will, Minx."
A shiver runs down my spine. I draw a steady breath and force myself to stay calm. "We need to return to the arena."
He seems to want to argue, holds me for another moment, then finally releases me. He forges ahead through the corridor and then opens the door.
Heat and the foul odor swell. It's still burning, the bonfire crackles viciously beneath the blackened, suspended forms of Jytte and Ulrich.
Smoke drifts upward in thick, ghostly spirals, distributing ash.
Many members of the Underworld cough or hold their mouths.
Some adjust their masks, while others stand tall, not moving an inch.
Brax guides a hand to my lower back as we push through the crowd. His palm stays anchored, steady and warm, a silent tether in the chaos.
Sean and Zara stand at the center stage, full of authority and framed by smoke and flames.
Zara's voice carries across the membership. "Anyone involved in the attempt on the king and queen will face consequences equal to the ones hanging above you."
Gasps erupt from the crowd.
Sean lifts his chin, roaring, "No one is permitted to leave. Not until the bones incinerate to ash. Interrogations begin immediately."
Zara points to the Omni and warns, "Your cooperation isn't optional. Each one of you will answer to your role in this charade."
Some of them shift on their feet. Others stay planted. A few members choke or mutter under their breath.
Sean's arm slips around Zara's waist. He orders, "Valentina. Brax. With us." He doesn't wait for a reply. He leads Zara offstage, passes us, and moves toward the tunnel.
Brax keeps his hand planted on my back. He guides me out of the arena, through the corridor, and onto Sean's jet.
He orders, "Get this thing off the ground," and steers Zara to the back.
The door closes before we get halfway through the cabin. We take seats on the couch across from Sean and Zara.
They're still pissed. Sean's jaw tics. He spouts, "I'm going to kill anyone who was involved!"
Zara puts her hand on his thigh.
He looks at her, shaking his head in anger. Then he glances at the ceiling, his eyes darting around it.
"You think they put cameras in here again?" she frets.
He pins his eyes back on her, asserting, "We're getting another sweep when we're back. No one is to be trusted at this point."
Zara releases an anxious breath, nods, and tense silence grows between them. She breaks her gaze and turns it on us, asking, "Where did you two go?"
My breath catches. My thoughts scramble again. I glance at Brax, suddenly tongue-tied.
He shifts back into his seat with deliberate slowness. He acts like he's lounging on a yacht instead of sitting inside an aircraft that possibly has surveillance on us even though it shouldn't. His lips press together in a line that mirrors amusement and warning all at once.
I try to concoct a structured explanation and open my mouth, but Brax stops me in my tracks. His hand slides onto my inner thigh, firm and claiming.
His signature sarcasm drips through every syllable. "Oh, we were telling Kirill and Fiona we're getting married."
Zara blinks.
Sean's brows rise toward the roof.
Neither of them speaks.
My heart pounds hard against my rib cage.
Brax continues to brush his thumb against my thigh in a slow, deliberate stroke, igniting a fire inside my core. He adds, "My little Minx is just chomping at the bit to marry me. Aren't you?"
He pins a heated, accusing gaze on me.
I clear my throat and smile, leaning closer to him. "That's right."
Sean snorts.
Zara cuts off a short laugh.
"What's so funny?" Brax questions.
Zara's lips twitch, a quick flash she tries to bury. Her gaze wanders to Brax's unapologetic grip on my leg.
I place my hand over Brax's to steady myself. "Kirill and Fiona agreed we could take Ulrich and Jytte's seats on the Royal Council!"
"I need a drink," Sean mumbles, and reaches for the cantor of whiskey. He takes the cap off, pours two fingers in a crystal tumbler, then downs all of it. He fills another one and hands it to Brax, offering, "Assume you need this."
Brax downs it faster than Sean drank his.
I sit straighter.
"And the timeline?" Zara asks, tone neutral, words slow and measured.
Brax blurts out, "The next full moon. You know how the Underworld loves its deadlines."
Sean refills his glass and Brax's. They swallow all of it again.
Zara exhales through her nose. It's almost a laugh but she suppresses it.
Sean puts his tumbler back on the table and leans back. "Big commitment."
"Love demands it," Brax replies smoothly, sliding his hand higher on my thigh. "You of all people should know."
Zara's mouth twitches so fiercely she puts her hand over it, her eyes beaming bright.
Sean's face hardens. He wags his finger between us. "They're going to push the limits to make sure this is real."
"Oh, it's real," Brax says, his thumb shifting higher.
I force myself not to shift in my seat, and lift my chin, grounding the story. "We're prepared. We'll pass their tests."
Sean's eyes sharpen. He warns, "Make sure you do."
Brax's grip tightens around my thigh. "We will."
Zara hits the buzzer.
The flight attendant appears. "Can I get you something, Mrs. O'Malley?"
"Champagne. The good one, please."
"Yes, ma'am." The attendant rushes off.
She redirects her gaze to Brax's hand on my thigh, then adds, "Never thought I'd see you getting married." She smirks at him.
He slings an arm around me and tugs me against him. "What can I say? Can't keep my hands off my little Minx." He turns his arrogant daggers on me.
Heat rushes through my bloodstream.
The attendant returns with a silver bucket containing an open, chilled bottle. She pours generous glasses, the bubbles rising in a stream. She hands one to Zara and me, then starts to pour another.
"We'll stick to whiskey," Sean interjects.
She puts it back into the bucket. "Very well. Can I get you anything else?"
"That will be all. Thank you," he states.
She disappears, and he pours two more glasses, then hands one to Brax.
Zara raises her flute. "To the upcoming union between Valentina and Brax. May the next full moon bring love, stability, and an eternity of happiness." Her lips twitch with a barely contained laugh.
Eternity.
Brax stiffens next to me.
Sean huffs under his breath, but he lifts his glass. "To the two of you. And to the fact that my heart didn't stop six different times tonight. Sláinte!"
"Sláinte!" Brax mutters and downs his whiskey.
"Salute!" I offer.
"Santé!" Zara adds in French.
I take a slow sip. The crisp champagne adds more heat in my stomach.
Brax drags the backs of his knuckles along my shoulder with unhurried strokes, spreading tingling sparks through every nerve in my body.
I shift slightly.
He pulls me fully against him as if the two inches between us are unacceptable. His low voice comes out playful but feels like a warning. "No escaping me now, Valentina."
I swallow, but my throat tightens too much to respond.
The conversation shifts. Sean and Zara talk quietly about the arena, the Omni, and more possible traitors. The words drift around me in a faint blur. Every inch of my awareness narrows to Brax's hands, his heat, and his earthy, masculine scent, edged with smoke from the fires we just left behind.
It all makes me ache with something so needy I feel like I might explode.
He brings his arm back to my thigh. His thumb makes a slow arc on my skin.
My entire body coils tighter with every pass.
He leans back casually, as if all he's doing is lounging through the eight-hour flight instead of systematically dismantling my self-control. Whenever I shift, he pulls me closer with firm and intimate pressure.
Zara observes us between sips. Her mouth curves every time Brax asserts another inch of possession, as if she's watching a show she wasn't expecting but refuses to look away from.
By the third hour, there are two empty champagne bottles and a torturous hum in my veins. Heat builds inside me, pouring through my limbs with a pulse that steals the air from my lungs.
Brax never takes his hands off me. His thumb strokes upward in a slow, coaxing motion, getting closer and closer to the danger zone.
Five hours in, he drops a kiss just below my ear. It's a quick graze, done while Sean and Zara discuss security protocols, but my entire body tightens in response. He pretends nothing happened, his eyes fixed innocently ahead, but the faint curve of his mouth betrays him.
By the seventh hour, I'm so wound up that the fabric of my dress clings to the heat rising off me. The air moves too slowly. My pulse flutters too fast. The press of Brax's palm against my thigh becomes its own gravity, dragging every thought toward the promise simmering beneath his calm exterior.
Whenever turbulence hits, he uses it as an excuse to anchor me harder against him, his fingertips tracing the same small, confident patterns.