Chapter 6
ACHILLES
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been taught to be bold.
Not reckless. Not brazen. Not audacious.
Bold…which, as Dad likes to remind me, is “strength with conviction behind it”.
Strength without the conviction to follow through is mere impulsiveness. And that's not a trait a king has any use for.
And I will be a king.
A ruler.
Fearless, and just, and unflinching in his duty.
Bold.
I realize that all of that can potentially come across as nauseatingly pompous. But it’s what I’ve been repeating in my head since I somehow pulled myself away from her last night on the footpath back to Morvaine Manor, at the edge of the woods.
Truth be told, cringe as it may be, it’s a mantra I repeat frequently, to try to remind myself to curb those urges that I know have no place in my world.
Recklessness.
Impulsiveness.
Giving in to baser desires.
The irony of telling myself not to be “reckless, impulsive, and giving in to baser desires” while I was licking the sweet taste of Yelena’s pussy off the back of my knife is not lost on me.
But hey… It’s the thought that counts.
The trouble is, a full twenty-four hours later, my thoughts are still entirely focused on the breathy sounds she made and the way she tasted. I can’t get either one out of my head.
It’s got me unable to focus on anything else—not the studying I need to get in before my economics quiz tomorrow. Not the punishing two-hour workout I attempted earlier, hoping the screams of my muscles would drown out the roar of my libido.
Spoiler: it didn’t.
At first, when I went back into that bedroom after she’d run off, and rifled through the bookcase where she’d been meddling, the emotion I felt was “curiosity”.
I mean, I’m not curious why a girl in general would leave panties for my cousin and best friend. He’s a six-foot-four wall of muscle, he’s rich and powerful, and he has the same wildly unfair genetics that I do.
What can I say: Drakos plus Kildare equals winning combination.
I can’t imagine girls haven’t left their panties for my cousin numerous times before. But Yelena De Luca is not the sort of girl who does that, as anyone could tell you after five seconds of observing her.
But then, confusion led to fury. I can tell myself all day that Yelena isn’t the type of girl to do that. But the fact remains that she did.
And it pissed me the fuck off.
Not, however, as much as what she blurted out when I cornered her about it.
Kyle.
My jaw grinds as I slowly pace my bedroom. My gaze rips sharply to my desk. I stride over and yank open the drawer, pulling out exhibits A and B.
A is the red lace thong. B is my knife.
Both are currently massive sources of confusion and weakness for me.
First, there’s my initial confusion over being angry to think she left her underwear for Lochlan. Then there’s the even deeper anger at her leaving them for Kyle fucking Santoro.
But one-upping both of those is the fact that they aren’t Yelena’s panties.
For one, they’re a size too big. And two, she doesn’t own a single pair of underwear that's anywhere near as skimpy and sexy.
I know that for a fact. I checked her underwear drawer when I slipped into her room later that night after the party to pluck the curious wolf necklace from around her sleeping throat.
So now the bigger question is why Yelena took the risk of sneaking upstairs to the third floor during that party to hide someone else’s panties in Lochlan’s room for Kyle to find.
Hence: confusion.
The knife being a source of weakness is simply…well…
I sigh as I bring the blade to my face and run my tongue over the back edge.
Motherfucker.
Her taste is almost entirely gone, which is extremely annoying. I wasn’t lying the other night when I licked my fingers clean in front of her.
She really has become my favorite fucking meal.
I drag my tongue across the steel one last time before scowling and putting the knife and not-Yelena’s panties back into the drawer.
Remember, you’re a fucking king.
Kings don’t lick the taste of pussy off a knife. Kings don’t sneak into sleeping girls’ bedrooms and paw through their underwear drawers.
“I’m sorry, Lochlan, are you my father now?”
I’m at the bottom of the main floor stairs when Selene’s voice comes from around the corner. I step into one of Kingsward Hall’s massive living rooms and cock a brow at the showdown between two of my cousins.
Selene is standing eye-to-eye with Lochlan, her finger jammed into his face.
Okay, “eye-to-eye” is a stretch. Loch is like a full foot taller than her.
My uncle Kratos is a monster of a man closing in on seven feet in height. Meanwhile, my aunt Bianca is barely over five feet. Selene and her two younger sisters got the Drakos facial features: high cheekbones, strong jaws, and Uncle Kratos’ icy blue eyes. But not the Drakos height.
Comically, given the current showdown, Lochlan got all of my uncle Castle’s height and muscular build, in direct contrast to my aunt Calliope’s petite frame.
“If I was your father, I would have traded you in a long time ago,” Lochlan sighs, glaring at our cousin over her finger.
“Traded me in?” Selene rolls her eyes. “What's that even mean, douchebag?”
“Adoption.”
Selene scowls as she rubs her temples. “Adoption doesn’t involve a fucking trade, you psycho. It’s not a gift exchange.”
“Fine, no trade. They could just fucking have you,” Lochlan growls. “Anyway, you’re deflecting from the issue at hand.”
“Which is?”
They both turn when they hear my voice. Past them, Loch’s younger brother Ronan—my cousin—and Akira Mori, another Para Bellum member from Japan, are grinning like a couple of assholes at the scene playing out in front of them.
Lochlan scowls at me. “What’s up?”
“That’s what I just asked you,” I frown. “What’s going on?”
Selene sighs deeply. “Lochlan thinks it’s still the 1800s and that he, as a member of the patriarchy, has authority over me because I have a vagina.”
Lochlan winces. “Do me a favor. Never mention your vagina to me again.”
“Oh, you mean my cunt? My pussy?”
“Dude, come on!” Lochlan groans, pulling away from Selene with a sour face. “I truly do not need to ever hear you, my cousin, say any of those wor—”
“Poon. Vajay-jay. Hoo-ha. Vullllva—”
“Selene!!!”
I hold up my hands. “Can someone calmly, maybe without using any words for anyone’s genitals, tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Lochlan shoves his fingers through his tussled sandy brown hair. “You heard what was going on in our fucking hot tub at the party on Friday?”
Nope.
I’ve been kinda out of the loop on anything and everything since…well…
Since I discovered my new favorite flavor, if we’re being honest.
“No, but I think you’re about to fill me in.”
“This one—”
“I do have a fucking name, dickhead,” Selene growls as Lochlan jams a thumb in her direction.
“Fine. Our dear cousin Selene decided to go skinny dipping.”
I shrug. “I mean, I don’t need the full visual, but…so?”
“Thank you, Achilles,” Selene mutters. “And for the record, I wasn’t skinny dipping. I had underwear on.”
“Oh, much better,” Lochlan grunts. “Anyway, it’s not what she was or wasn't wearing. She was in there alone with Kirill.”
My brows knit.
Huh.
Ronan clears his throat. “Also worth mentioning that the creep was butt-ass naked and waving his fucking dick around at our guests.”
I arch a brow as my attention shifts back to Selene. She sighs heavily.
“Dude, it was a party.”
I frown. “Exactly why was Kirill Tsarenko waving his dick around?”
Selene snorts. “Because he got it pierced and was in a sharing mood?”
Akira and Ronan crack up on the couches behind them.
“Wait-wait-wait.” Akira frowns at Selene. “Aren’t you and Kirill cousins?”
“Eww!” she says, scandalized. “No?!”
Akira's frown deepens as I shake my head. “He’s my cousin.”
Ronan nods. “Adopted, for bonus points.”
“I don’t think that makes a single fucking difference,” I mutter. “But in any case, no, he’s not Selene’s cousin.”
Selene smiles smugly at the other three and gives them all the middle finger.
“That said,” I growl, “I’m not cool with him waving his cock around. Consider him banned from future events here at the house.”
“Actually, he’s been banned from Kingsward Hall since last year for being a degenerate, like pretty much everyone in The Reckless.”
Fuck, why is he still here.
I plaster a fake smile on my face as I turn to Kyle Santoro.
“Thought you’d left already.”
One night of the former president of Para Bellum crashing a party he wasn’t invited to and staying over was bad enough. Two nights would test the limits of my patience. It being dinner time, I thought for sure he’d have fucked off by now.
Apparently, I’m not that lucky.
Kyle grins. “Well, I was going to. But then I was walking around…” He whistles wolfishly. “Bro, I'd forgotten just how fucking hot the talent is on this campus.”
Okay, it’s not like Lochie, Ronan, Drago, and I haven’t bullshitted about which girls are the hottest, who we’d sleep with, etc. I mean, c’mon, we’re only human.
But motherfuckers like Kyle take it to a whole other level.
I mean the asshole kept a log book when he was here, documenting all the girls he hooked up with, what he did with each of them, and their age, because—disgustingly—Kyle’s big thing was that he wouldn’t hook up with anyone after they turned twenty.
I mean, tell me you’re a fucking creep without telling me you’re a fucking creep.
It bothered Lochlan and I so much that last year we started implementing ID checks at the door of Para Bellum parties.
Not to make sure everyone was over twenty-one for alcohol reasons—I mean, it’s fucking college.
There's going to be college kids drinking.
No, it was to make sure everyone at our parties was eighteen.
Specifically, the female attendees. Just in case any freshmen with late birthdays were in attendance and Kyle started getting flirty with a fucking seventeen-year-old.
Let's just say, none of us lost any sleep when this fucker graduated.