CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT #2
When he pulled his finger away, crimson drops clung to the curve of his talon like liquid rubies. He studied the blood with an expression of dark fascination that made my stomach clench with something between fear and need. Raw, unrestrained need.
"You are mortal then," he said as his gaze returned to me. "Able to be killed."
Then, with movements slow and deliberate, he brought his finger to his mouth.
His lips parted, and I watched transfixed as his tongue swept across the talon, cleaning away every trace of my blood while his eyes never left mine.
The act was intimate and violent all at once—a claiming that went beyond mere words.
My throat worked convulsively as I swallowed hard, unable to look away from the raw hunger in his expression.
"Lioran knew," he continued as he took a step closer. "You knew I was searching for you. You heard the whispers, saw the guards questioning servants throughout the castle. You understood exactly what I wanted, who I was looking for."
Another step.
"And you kept your truth to yourself. You allowed me to tear my kingdom apart while you played dress-up as a knight." His eyes blazed crimson, actually glowing red. "Did that amuse you? Did you laugh in your chambers each night, knowing the king was half-mad with wanting you?"
"No," I whispered.
"Liar." The word cracked like a whip. "Everything about you is a fucking lie."
"That is not a lie."
His hand shot out faster than I could react, fingers wrapping around my throat. His palm was warm against my skin, calloused from years of sword work, and I could feel my pulse hammering against his fingers.
"That is not how you address your king."
I felt my own anger beginning to respond, rising like a tide within my chest to meet his fury.
The familiar burn of indignation flared hot in my veins, spreading from my core outward, pushing back against the fear he was trying to instill within me.
My jaw set with determination as I lifted my chin higher.
"Defiant even with my fingers wrapped around your throat."
The rage felt different this time—not the wild, untamed thing that had erupted when my powers first manifested, but something colder, more controlled.
It was the anger of a woman who had been hunted, who had been forced to flee her homeland, who had spent months perfecting lies just to survive in a world that would see her burned for what she was.
There was no reason left for me to kowtow to him any longer.
My fate was set—there was no escaping now—I’d failed.
Failed Merlin. Failed my mission. Failed myself.
But whether Arthur killed me now or later, the outcome would be the same.
The game was over, my carefully constructed identity as Sir Lioran crumbling around me.
But I wasn't about to go out submitting to him, king or no king. Not after everything I’d endured to get to this moment. So, I allowed my eyes to flash with anger as I met his blazing gaze, refusing to bow. Not now, not ever.
"We both know where this is going," I finally responded.
He looked surprised. "Do we?"
"Yes, so I see no point in debasing myself before you."
"And tell me, Guinevere," he continued as he leaned into me, our noses less than an inch apart. "Where is this going?"
"To my death, whether sooner or later."
He blinked at the words.
"And, as I told you before," I continued, "I have no interest in claiming your throne…"
His jaw clenched, the muscles working beneath his short beard as though he were physically chewing on his restraint. Even with the red of his eyes and the scales that revealed themselves through his skin, he was nothing short of stunning.
"And what do you have to say about the fact that I…" He began to circle me, as if appraising what belonged to him. The way he moved—feral, assessing—belonged entirely to the dragon. "Want nothing more than to fuck you."
I felt my heart beat even faster. "Then fuck me."
He moved to stand in front of me, his motions losing the last vestiges of humanity. His head tilted at an angle no human neck could naturally achieve, studying me with a fury that stripped away every layer of pretense.
He chuckled, and the sound was much deeper than it should have been. "That's what you want, isn't it, little temptress?"
"Yes," I answered honestly.
He leaned in closer, his lips parting. But he didn't speak. Instead, he inhaled deeply, drawing my scent into his lungs like a man tasting the air. The sound he made was low, raw—a beast catching the trail of its quarry.
His eyes fluttered closed for a heartbeat, and when they opened again, the red glow intensified.
"I can scent your desire." The words rumbled from deep in his chest, more growl than speech. "Even now, knowing what I harbor inside me—the beast—knowing that beast could rip you into pieces, your body betrays you."
Heat flooded my face, but I couldn't argue. Instead, I just held his stare.
"You hunger for me."
"Yes." It was just a whisper.
"Are you wet?"
I didn't dare back down. "Yes."
"Spread your legs."
So I took a step apart. He dropped down to his haunches, almost eye level with my quim.
Then he closed his eyes, opening his mouth to scent me again.
When he opened his eyes, they were fully red.
"Your scent… it's undoing me." His voice was rough with restraint that was rapidly fraying.
As I watched, I could see the fight playing out within him.
The dragon wanted to be freed, and the king was doing everything in his power to keep it contained.
"We covet what we scent. What belongs to us."
He stood then, and whatever restraint he'd been clinging to snapped.
The mask of kingship fell away entirely, revealing the raw, untamed creature that lived beneath the crown and royal trappings.
With a growl that reverberated from deep within his chest—more savage beast than civilized man—his hand shot out and tangled roughly in my hair, strong fingers twisting through the strands with deliberate force.
The sharp pull sent jolts of pain across my scalp as he yanked my head back, exposing the vulnerable line of my throat to his hungry gaze.
I could feel his callused fingertips against my scalp, the controlled strength in his grip that spoke of a man accustomed to taking what he wanted.
"I have thought of nothing other than you," he whispered, his breath fanning across my cheek, which made me swallow hard. "Every night it's been the same—fitful dreams of a woman with white hair and violet eyes."
I wanted to speak, to say something, but no words would come, so I remained silent; but the truth was a burning coal in my chest—I wanted this, wanted Arthur, for longer than I cared to admit.
From the first moment I'd seen him, even knowing who and what he was, what he represented, the desire had always been there.
The wanting had been a constant ache beneath every conversation, every shared glance, every moment of pretending to be someone else.
He must have recognized my silence for what it was—an agreement that I desired him just as much as he did me—because his mouth crashed down on mine a split second later.
The kiss was nothing like the gentle explorations I'd imagined in stolen moments; this was conquest, possession, an assertion of dominance that stole my breath.
His lips were firm yet surprisingly soft, demanding a response I couldn't help but give, despite every warning screaming in my mind.
And when I felt fangs lengthening while he kissed me, the fire in my belly only deepened.
His tongue plunged into my mouth, and I eagerly met it with my own, moaning against him.
His other arm snaked around my waist, hauling me against the hard, unyielding lines of his body until not even a whisper of space remained between us.
His heat radiated through me—unearthly and intense, like standing too close to a fire.
I found myself instinctively melting into that scorching embrace, my own body betraying every carefully constructed defense I'd built since arriving in Camelot.
His fingers encircled my wrists completely, pinning them at my sides as he deepened the kiss, a low growl of satisfaction rumbling in his chest when I responded by once more meeting his tongue with my own.
My back hit the rough bark of an ancient oak as he pressed me against it, his movements possessive and demanding. His kiss was punishing, designed to claim rather than cherish, and yet heat pooled low in my belly despite—or perhaps because of—its ferocity.
"You are ours. You belong to us."
My expression felt as complex as the emotions warring in my chest. Fear mingled with desire, uncertainty with a need so sharp it made it hard to breathe. I said nothing, gave him no words of encouragement or denial, but my silence seemed to be answer enough.
His hands began to move down my body, each touch both question and accusation.
His clawed fingers traced the curve of my hips, the dip of my waist, lingering.
The calluses on his palms and the scales on the tops of his hands rasped against my skin, but they only heightened the need bubbling inside me.
"Is this what you sought when you infiltrated my knights—to seduce their king?
" he demanded, his voice rough with want and anger.
His fingers were gentle one moment, demanding the next, as though he couldn't decide whether to worship or punish.
The contradiction mirrored the man himself—a king capable of both terrible cruelty and unexpected tenderness.
"No," I managed to gasp as his hands moved lower, exploring the flatness of my belly, coming dangerously close to touching my most private places. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears—breathless, wanting, yet edged with determination. "This was never my intention."
His laugh was low and disbelieving against my throat. "Your body tells a different story, Guinevere."
And gods help me, he wasn't wrong. Despite everything—the danger, the betrayal, the knowledge of who we both were—my treacherous body responded to his touch like dry tinder to flame. Each brush of his fingers left trails of heat that pooled low in my belly.
He glared down at me. "What is your intention now then?"
I stared up at him. "To feel you inside me." His eyes narrowed as if he were trying to discern whether I was telling him the truth. "Even though it was never my intention to want you… I did, and I do. From the moment I first saw you."
His eyes burned into mine. "Go on."
I swallowed hard. "I wanted to understand you." I fought to maintain clarity as his thumb traced circles on my hip, inching closer to the wetness between my thighs. "To see if you were the tyrant Merlin described—"
"Call him by what he is," Arthur growled. "Your father."
"He has never been a father to me." I spat the words back.
Arthur's hand moved to cup my face, his claws rough against my cheeks. His eyes were still hard. "Pretty words from a practiced deceiver."
"No," I insisted. "Truth."
For a moment, we stood suspended between worlds—king and spy, man and woman, enemies and potential lovers.
"Do you not know how many lives have been lost to deception?
" he demanded, his voice carrying the weight of years spent questioning every smile, every gesture, every whispered word of loyalty.
The raw pain in his tone caught me off guard—this wasn't just about my infiltration, but about wounds carved deep by countless betrayals that had shaped him into the hardened ruler before me.
"How many times have I had to choose between loyalty and survival? "
"No, I don't know."
"Did Merlin send you to seduce me?" he asked slowly, his thumb still tracing maddening circles against my hip. "Did he instruct you to use your body as a weapon, to make me weak with want so I would lower my guard? Or is this betrayal entirely of your own making?"
The accusation stung more than I expected, heat flooding my cheeks as anger warred with the treacherous desire his touch continued to kindle.
"I was never instructed to seduce you." My voice was sharper than intended.
"And I would argue I am not the one doing the seducing now—it's quite the other way around. "
He looked at me like he didn't believe a single word I'd said, his expression a mixture of skepticism and dark amusement that made my stomach clench with both fear and unwanted attraction.
"Enough talk," he finally barked, his voice cutting through the charged air like a blade. His eyes narrowed further until they were mere slits. "I will take from you what I want—what the dragon wants—and decide your fate afterward."
"What do you want from me?"
His smile was smug. "I want what no man has yet taken from you."
Without warning, he moved his fingers between my legs, running his claw across the sensitive flesh just above my opening.
Instinctively, I threw my head back and moaned.
That seemed to urge him forward because I could feel his talon now rubbing lightly against my hole, slipping inside only slightly.
Both of us were well aware that if he thrust his clawed finger within me, he would shred me.
Instead, he brought his talon back to his face and held it up to the moonlight, where it glistened with evidence of my desire.
He extended his tongue and licked his clawed finger. As he did, his claw rescinded, his finger appearing human once more.
"I will claim every part of you that dared deceive me." His voice dropped lower, rougher as he thrust his finger inside me, and I bucked beneath him. "I will fuck you with the only cock you will ever take. The only cock you will ever know."