Chapter 56 Lucian #2
Annora’s eyes flashed, hurt and fury braided together, and for a moment the political mask dissolved entirely and I saw the woman underneath. The one who’d built her entire identity around becoming queen of Veyndral and couldn’t accept that the position had been filled.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said.
“I’ve made several. You’re not one of them.”
“She can’t give you what I can.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Mira’s voice came from behind Annora. Casual. Conversational. The tone she used when she was about to do real damage.
Annora turned. Mira stood three feet away, a dagger balanced loosely in her right hand. Not brandished. Just present. The way a person holds a pen they’ve been writing with.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” Mira said. “Mostly because you weren’t being quiet and also because I have a vested interest in conversations about my replacement.”
“This is a private discussion,” Annora said.
“About my mate. Which makes it my discussion.” Mira tilted her head. “You want to know what I can offer that you can’t? That’s fair. You’ve had decades to make your case. I’ve had months.”
“Months of chaos, conflict, and a war you started. You’re not as special as you think you are.”
“A war my father started. I’m finishing it.
” Mira rotated the dagger between her fingers with a fluidity that came from weeks of training and a lifetime of learning to defend herself.
“You keep talking about what I can’t do.
Can’t rule, can’t lead. Can’t stand beside him. And yet here I am. Standing.”
“With a dagger.” Annora’s lip curled. “How very human.”
Mira moved. Fast. Not aggressive, just efficient. The dagger traced a thin line across Annora’s cheekbone before the lycan woman could flinch.
A scratch.
Annora’s hand flew to her cheek. She gasped, staring at the blood on her fingers, and for a moment the centuries-old aristocrat looked genuinely scared that a human had touched her.
But I had a different reaction. All I could think about is my mate’s so fucking hot.
Every drop of blood in my body went south. My wolf growled with want.
The woman carrying my children had just opened a lycan noble’s cheek with a flick of her wrist and the only coherent thought left in my head was that I needed everyone in this clearing to disappear so I could put my mouth on her.
“Relax.” Mira wiped the blade on her sleeve. “You’re not a disgusting human. You’ll regenerate.”
The scratch sealed itself in seconds. Annora watched it close, her expression cycling through shock and rage.
Mira stepped forward and rested her hand on Annora’s shoulder. The gesture was almost friendly.
“For the record,” Mira said, “he’s the one chasing me. Begging me to take him back.” She held Annora’s eyes. “Just one word from me and he’ll crawl back on his knees.” A smile. Not warm. Certain. “We are not on the same level.”
Annora didn’t speak or move. The hand on her shoulder held her in place with the gentle authority of a woman who’d stopped asking for permission to occupy space.
Mira released her and turned to me. “Lucian.”
Well shit, I was really turned on by her actions.
I followed her.
My wolf didn’t even hesitate. The king of Veyndral, trailing his mate into the tree line because she’d told him to.
We made it fifteen feet past the clearing before she turned, grabbed the front of my shirt, and slammed me back against a pine trunk. The bark bit into my shoulders and Mira pressed the flat of the dagger beneath my chin, tilting my head up.
“Don’t make trouble,” she said. Her eyes were bright, furious, the one blue eye blazing behind its brown contact. “We are barely fixed. You are on the thinnest ice imaginable. And the next time a woman offers you a marriage alliance, you shut it down before I have to walk over and do it myself.”
“Yes.” The grin automatically spread across my face. She was magnificent when she was angry and she was always angry and I was always grinning and the cycle had no end in sight.
“Stop smiling.”
“No.”
“Lucian.”
“That was so fucking hot.” My hand found the back of her neck. “I’m allowed to smile.”
The dagger dropped a fraction, her breath caught.
And then my mouth was on hers.
It was a torrid kiss. Her back arched against me and my hand tightened on her nape, pulling her closer while her fingers released the dagger and twisted into my hair.
My other hand slid beneath the hem of her shirt, palm flat against the warm skin of her waist, and her teeth caught my lower lip in a bite that sent a growl rumbling through my chest.
A squawk shattered the moment. Stupid bird.
We broke apart, breathing hard, and looked up.
The giant raven from this morning was circling above the canopy, its wingspan casting a shadow across the clearing. It completed one loop, banked hard, and disappeared westward.
Toward the mountains. Toward the portal.
My fingers were still tangled in her hair. Her hand was still fisted in my shirt. And the raven was already carrying whatever it had seen back to Veyndral.
Fourteen days.
The countdown had begun.