Chapter 35
Poe
Poe is on the training ground, giving orders to guards, when Maya approaches.
He is immediately concerned because he recognizes the signs of her impending heat and wants to know what she is doing out of the royal suite.
Maya admits that she came looking for him because she needs to know if he will be returning to the suite that night.
Poe has been traveling more frequently as Logan’s envoy.
Poe replies that he isn’t sure. Maya replies that she had planned to bond with him and Ares that night unless he has something more important to do, then turns on her heel and walks away.
“Hold that line! Shoulders back, eyes forward! You call that a defensive stance? My grandmother could break through that, and she’s been dead twenty years!”
My voice echoes across the training yard, bouncing off stone walls as two dozen royal guards scramble to correct their formation.
They’re sloppy—palace-bred and battle-soft despite their impressive uniforms. The old king preferred guards chosen for loyalty rather than skill.
A mistake I’m determined to correct before someone puts a knife in Logan’s back.
“Again!” I bark, circling the formation with measured steps. “Intruder from the east entrance. Standard containment protocol. Move!”
They shift into position, marginally better than their first attempt. Still too slow, still too hesitant, but improvement nonetheless. I make mental notes of the weakest links, the ones who’ll need extra training or reassignment to less critical posts.
The wound in my side throbs dully, a constant reminder of my own recent failure.
Two weeks since Logan claimed the throne, since I hung in chains while he fought his father to the death.
My ribs have mostly healed, but the royal physician still clucks his tongue whenever I exert myself.
As if I have the luxury of convalescence when there’s a kingdom to secure and a new king to protect.
“Better,” I acknowledge grudgingly. “But ‘better’ still gets you killed in a real attack. Again!”
A flicker of movement at the edge of the yard catches my attention—a splash of purple against the dull stone of the palace walls. Maya. She stands in the shadow of an archway, watching the training session with an expression I can’t quite read from this distance.
Something tightens in my chest at the sight of her. Unexpected. Unwelcome. I force my attention back to the guards, but my awareness of her presence lingers like a physical touch.
“Captain Deveraux, take over,” I order, nodding to my second-in-command. “Run them through the assassination response protocols. I want them moving as a unit, not twenty individuals in matching uniforms.”
Deveraux salutes crisply. “Yes, sir.”
I stride across the yard, my body automatically adjusting to minimize the pull on healing wounds.
Maya steps forward as I approach, emerging from the shadows into the harsh sunlight.
She’s wearing a simple dress of deep blue, her purple hair loose around her shoulders.
No royal finery, no Omega submission. Just Maya, as fierce and unyielding as the day we met.
“Terrorizing the new recruits?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Training them,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there? They look equally terrified either way.”
I shrug, unwilling to admit she has a point. “Fear is an excellent motivator. They’ll learn faster if they’re afraid of failing.”
Maya’s expression shifts subtly, something like disappointment flickering across her features. “Some things haven’t changed, I see.”
The observation stings more than it should.
I study her face, noting the shadows beneath her eyes, the tension she carries in her shoulders despite her casual stance.
She’s exhausted. We all are. Rebuilding a kingdom, dismantling the old king’s corrupt institutions, establishing Logan’s authority—none of it leaves much room for rest.
But there’s something else in her demeanor, a nervous energy that seems out of place. She’s not usually one to seek me out without purpose.
“What brings you to the training yard?” I ask, cutting through the small talk. “I doubt you came to critique my teaching methods.”
Her eyes meet mine directly, unflinching in a way that still surprises me. Most Omega avoid direct eye contact with Alphas. Not Maya. Never Maya.
“I need to know if you’ll be in the royal suite tonight,” she says, the words coming out in a rush. “Or if you’re traveling again.”
The question catches me off guard. Since Logan claimed the throne, I’ve been serving as his envoy to the outlying provinces, delivering royal decrees and assessing the loyalty of regional governors. It’s necessary work, but it keeps me away from the palace for days at a time.
Away from the pack. Away from her.
I study her more carefully, noting the flush rising to her cheeks, the slight dilation of her pupils, the way her scent has sweetened almost imperceptibly. Recognition dawns with a jolt of something between alarm and desire.
Heat. She’s approaching her heat.
“Maya,” I begin, lowering my voice despite the distance between us and the nearest guards. “You shouldn’t be out here. Not when you’re—“
“I know exactly what I am,” she interrupts, a flash of irritation crossing her features. “And I’m perfectly capable of managing my own condition.”
I raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Then why do you ask?”
Her flush deepens, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m asking because I need to make plans. Because unlike some people, I don’t make decisions that affect others without consulting them first.”
The barb lands precisely where she intended. I incline my head, acknowledging the hit. “Fair enough. To answer your question, I’m not sure. I may need to travel to the southern border, but nothing’s been decided.”
Maya nods, processing this information with a slight frown. “I see.”
“Why does it matter?” I press, curiosity overcoming caution. “Whether I’m here or not?”
She hesitates, something vulnerable flickering across her face before her expression hardens into resolve. “Because I had planned to bond with you and Ares tonight,” she says, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. “Unless, of course, you have something more important to do.”
The deadpan statement is enough to steal my breath more effectively than any punch to the ribs. Bond. With me and Ares. Tonight.
“You—what?” I manage, my usual composure deserting me entirely.
“You heard me.” Her chin lifts slightly, a challenge in her eyes. “But if you’re too busy playing royal emissary, I’m sure Ares and I can manage without you.”
She turns on her heel, dress flaring around the curve of her hips, knowing damn well I’m watching every step as she strides away.
Icollapse against the silk sheets, sweat-slick and gasping. My lungs burn with each breath, muscles trembling with exhaustion beyond anything I’ve experienced in battle. Three days. Three days of this marathon, and still her heat shows no sign of breaking.
Beside me, Ares groans and flops onto his back, his massive chest heaving. “Gods above,” he rasps, voice raw from overuse. “Is it always like this?”
I shake my head, lacking the breath for words. The Omega women I’ve been with before—courtiers, nobles’ wives, the occasional palace servant—were all past the age of intense heats. Controlled, manageable affairs that bore little resemblance to the inferno we’re currently navigating.
Maya’s heat is relentless. Primal. A force of nature that consumes everything in its path.
The bed shifts as she crawls over me, her naked body flushed and glowing with sweat. Her purple hair falls in tangled waves around her shoulders as she straddles my hips, pressing kisses to every inch of skin she can reach.
“Again?” I manage, the word more breath than sound.
She smile, a feral, hungry thing that sends a jolt of renewed desire through my exhausted body.
“Again,” she confirms, reaching between us to guide me inside her.
I’m still sensitive from our last round, nerves singing with almost painful pleasure as she sinks down on me.
My hands find her hips automatically, steadying her as she begins to move.
Is this the fourth time tonight? The fifth?
I’ve lost count, lost track of time entirely in this haze of sex and sweat and Maya’s cherry-champagne scent.
“Fuck,” Ares mutters appreciatively, turning his head to watch us. His green eyes are heavy-lidded but alert, his cock already hardening again despite his exhaustion. Alpha stamina is legendary, but even we have limits. Limits that Maya seems determined to push past.
She rides me with single-minded focus, her body hot and slick around mine. Her hands brace against my chest, nails digging half-moons into my skin that will join the constellation of marks she’s already left. I thrust up to meet her, finding a rhythm that makes her gasp and arch her back.
“So good,” she breathes, her voice husky and raw. “You feel so good inside me.”
Pride surges through me at her words, primitive and possessive. I may share her with Logan, with Ares, with Cillian, but in this moment, I’m the one making her feel this way. I’m the one she chose for this round, this pleasure.
Her movements grow more erratic as she chases her release, her inner muscles clenching around me in a way that makes it nearly impossible to hold back my own climax. I grit my teeth, determined to make her come first, to prove my worth even in my exhaustion.
“Let go,” I urge her, sliding one hand between us to circle her clit with my thumb. “Come for me, Maya.”
She shudders, her rhythm faltering as pleasure overtakes her. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and something primal stirs in me at the sight. The urge to mark, to claim, to make her mine in the most ancient way possible.