57. Possessive
Lyra squirmed her naked, sheer-clad body against Wilder’s bare shoulder, and it took everything in him not to caress the backside against his neck. Her fists thudded against his back, and he clenched his jaw.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
Various sensual scenes played out in the rooms as he strode past, which only heightened the arousal that wound around him.
He was stupid.
The smell of her had added to the climax that he had been approaching before it all became too much.
Wilder should’ve known it wasn’t a figment of his imagination and that she had been there. Then he wouldn’t have been caught off guard by her appearance.
Godsdamn Maelys for bringing her here.
Wilder reached the edge of the staircase and took the stairs down two at a time. He couldn’t get out of this place fast enough.
The occupants of the Venus stared at the absurdity that was the crowned prince carrying a female out of the hall and not into a room.
“You are being ridiculous!” Lyra cried, still squirming to get out of his hold.
“And you should not be here,” he replied as calmly as he could manage.
The door beckoned ahead, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped out and onto the still-teeming street. Wilder turned down a dark alley and slid Lyra down his body and to her feet. With hands placed on either side of her face, he backed her against the stone wall of the building.
“Now tell me. What was the princess of Atlantis doing in a pleasure hall, of all places?”
Lyra stared up at him and swallowed. If he wasn’t mistaken, she looked nervous.
“What a stupid question. You know exactly what I was doing there.”
“Which was?” he drawled the words out.
Lyra huffed and crossed her arms over her breasts. Wilder’s eyes dipped to her bare flesh for a moment before raising back to her emerald eyes.
“I was trying to celebrate the holiday,” she replied quietly. “It was going to be my first time.”
The way she phrased it, not the words, but the tone had his ears pricking.
“It's your first time celebrating the holiday,” Wilder clarified.
She had told him already that she had never celebrated the holiday. And he couldn’t understand why she was phrasing it that way now.
Lyra averted her eyes and stared at the elves that walked past the entrance of their quiet alley.
Wilder grabbed her chin to make her meet his eyes.
“Are you telling me you walked into the Venus intending to lose your virginity?”
She glared with the same ferocity he had seen in thunderstorms.
“Yes,” she spat.
Wilder groaned and pressed his forehead against hers. He hadn’t known she was intact. She had told him in the carriage that she had experience.
“You can’t.”
Lyra shoved against his chest. “You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do with my own body.”
“You are correct.”
Lyra floundered for words, not at all expecting him to concede.
“You can do whatever you want with your own body, but take it from someone who has experience in these matters: your first time should not be a quick fuck at a pleasure hall with a male who’s paid to be there.”
“And what should it be?” Lyra asked with a timidity that made his chest ache.
Wilder couldn’t help himself and took a step closer to her, brushing a wayward lock of hair out of her face.
“It should be with someone who cares about you. Who would take all of your fears and desires into consideration and devote their time to your pleasure. Someone who would worship you.”
Lyra looked at his lips before gazing into his eyes.
“I don’t know anyone who cares about me.”
And it felt like a punch to the gut. She wasn’t wrong—he had made that clear.
“Please,” he whispered. “Give it time.” He took a step back.
Lyra rested her head against the stone wall. “Time is not something I have, Princeling. Thanks to your father.”
The tension that had been building between them turned to ice. The sheer fabric of her dress and her position leaning against the wall made the flesh below her left breast and the scar that was there glaringly visible. A gnarled, angry red scar the length of his finger.
“What is that?” he asked.
His mind was emptied of all thoughts except fury.
“Are you an imbecile? It’s another scar,” she sneered, her fury entwining with his.
“Who did that to you?” Wilder’s voice was like ice, and for the first time since his youth, he lost control of his magic.
A whirlwind spun through the alley.
Lyra’s hair whipped in a chaotic tangle around her face, and the straps of her sheer gown fell off her shoulders.
“Wilder—stop,” she pleaded, looking around. “It’s an old scar. I was a child.”
“Who touched you?” he roared over the straight-line winds that pushed him closer to her.
Lyra’s face was inches from his, but her eyes were miles and miles away. To her cruel home beneath the sea.
“My father.”
His magic halted, and the winds died.
Wilder sucked in a breath and felt his body vibrate.
“Why?” He reached towards her, stroking his hand from her cheek to her neck.
“Because of my magic.”
It gutted him. She had been abused and was now being manipulated over something that was out of her control—her magic.
He felt no better than the monster that raised her.
“I thought—” her voice cracked. “I thought if I were no longer intact, that when I went back, I wouldn’t be of value anymore. I would be free.”
Wilder squeezed his eyes shut. She was cursed, and not because of her magic, but because she was a female.
“It was part of your bargain with my father. You will be free. I will make sure of it.”
Lyra nodded. But her gaze was haunted as she stared up at him. “I don’t need your pity.”
It was his turn to argue, to shake his head, and to explain his feelings. But he couldn’t. He was living his own nightmare, watching her struggle through hers.
She slipped out from under his arms and disappeared down the street. Leaving him all alone to ponder what the hell had happened between them and the mistake that he had made.