Chapter 52
Westley stormed through the palace, intent on finding Solveig as quickly as possible. The connection between them led him straight to his rooms.
He didn’t pause to wonder why she was in there, crashing through the doors in a rage before coming to an abrupt halt. She stood by the window in a silk robe, her damp hair hanging down her back.
Her scent hit him like a bolt of lightning, storm and rain clouding his senses—the smell of his own soap coating her skin made him growl with male satisfaction.
She was his.
She didn’t look surprised to see him, just raised one full brow. Her magic was still clearly drained because she looked spent.
All he could do was stare, his hands hovering on the door handles. Anger, love, and need swirled in his veins.
He let go of the doors, letting them fall shut with a loud click.
“What the fuck, Solveig?” he snarled.
She uncrossed her arms from her chest, causing the robe to slip open and reveal more of her tempting skin. His gaze flicked down at the movement, and that small sliver of skin had his cock thickening in his pants.
“Why the Hel are you angry with me?” she asked through gritted teeth, her defences up.
“You got bitten by a snake?” he ground out.
Solveig huffed, waving a hand. “It was barely anything.”
“Barely anything,” Westley repeated under his breath. “You didn’t think it was important enough to mention?” he asked, returning the glare in her copper eyes.
Solveig stood straighter and answered with her own scowl. “It wasn’t fatal, just a paralytic venom,” she said like that would comfort him.
It didn’t.
“Just a paralytic venom.” Visions of murdering the Elven queen swam in his head.
“Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
“Maybe if you were making sense, I wouldn’t have to.”
“It would make sense if you stopped being a raging asshole for five seconds,” she scolded. Her hand twitched at her side as she took a step towards him, though she was unarmed.
He hoped.
“Maybe if my mate wasn’t being attacked or promised to someone else every five seconds, I wouldn’t be an asshole.” He took a step towards her.
Solveig threw her hands in the air. “I didn’t know you were my mate! What good would it have done?”
“It would have done plenty of good. I would have strangled whoever attempted to kill you.”
“You would have murdered the Queen of Alfheim and then where would we have been?”
That pulled him up short. “You knew?”
“I guessed, but based on your reaction, I was right.”
“Just because it was a queen who tried to kill you doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have enjoyed spilling every last drop of her blood.”
“She didn’t try to kill me, and you know it. You would have felt it through the bond if that was the case.”
At her mention of the bond, it flared to life in Westley’s chest. Solveig let out a soft gasp, her hand flying up to her heart at the same moment he felt the pull towards her. She took a step back and he growled.
“You flinch away from me?” he asked, though he didn’t sense fear in her.
The opposite.
Her own excitement and need crossed over to him. He groaned, his pants causing him pain as they filled with his cock.
“You forget one thing, West,” she said, her voice husky and low.
“What’s that?” He took another step towards her, forcing her to retreat again until she was trapped between him and the wall. She sucked in a breath as he pressed her against the cold window.
He stood a hair’s breadth from her, his senses overwhelmed with everything that stood before him—his entire life, his soul.
“You have a penance to pay,” she whispered.
“I do?” He reached up and laced his fingers through her hair, gripping tightly, pulling her face close to his.
She nodded and swallowed. Westley tracked the movement of her slender neck, canines lengthening, aching.
“And how am I to pay?” he growled, revelling in the warmth of her skin through the thin robe.
“Beg, Prince.”
He leaned close enough to taste the breath sighing from her tempting mouth. His lips tingled with anticipation, already begging. But he needed to know something first.
“Are you still marrying him?”
She searched his face. Westley thought her hesitation would fuel his anger, but tears pricked his eyes instead as despair washed over him. His chest heaved as he waited for the inevitable blow. Seconds ticked by. Hours. Months.
And then she answered.
“No.”
He claimed her mouth, tasting her, pulling her flush against him.
Goddess, his memory did not do her justice. She fit into him perfectly. His mate. Everything that he was belonged to her, and he’d be damned now if he ever let her go again.
“Cruel witch,” he breathed when they parted for air.
Her smile was bright, and he was struck by the sight of it.
“Does knowing I’m your mate really change your intention to marry him?” Westley hadn’t meant to ask, but the question slipped from his lips.
“You don’t believe me?” she asked.
“I do. I think I’m just finding it difficult to believe that I deserve any of this, any of you.”
Her silence was not reassuring, and as it continued, his brow began to sweat. His fingers dug into her waist as he braced himself for the moment when she’d inevitably come to her senses and pull away from him.
Instead, she surprised him by placing a palm on his cheek.
“You deserve our bond, West.” She implored him to believe, holding his gaze until his shoulders lost their tension. “But . . .” He tensed again.
“But?” he asked. Although, why he asked when he didn’t want the answer, he didn’t know.
“But I won’t pretend I am not still suffering from your actions.”
His stomach bottomed out. It was one thing to know how badly he’d hurt her. It was another to hear it from her lips.
“I know,” he agreed. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Her anger flared and she slapped his face. “Why the Hel wouldn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to be trapped with someone who hurt you. I’ve betrayed our bond, Solveig. I’ve betrayed you, and I couldn’t bring myself to force you into a decision that you didn’t want.”
“So now you know what I want?”
“I know you want to help your people, and mating me might not have been the best way. I wanted you to be able to choose.”
“How could I choose when I didn’t know?” she implored.
Westley needed to take a step away. She was much too close for clear thought.
“I kissed you and told you I loved you,” he practically shouted. It wasn’t anger at her though, it was anger at himself. He was screwing all of this up. “You may not have known I was your mate, but you at least knew how I felt—how I feel about you.”
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall, exposing the creamy skin of her neck. He could barely see the scars he knew were there. He knew every scar she had.
And he knew exactly where he wanted to sink his teeth into her, give her a new scar that marked her as his. Fuck, what was wrong with him? He needed to get a grip. They clearly had a lot to work through before she allowed him anywhere near her in that way.
“You should have told me,” she said without opening her eyes.
“I know,” he whispered. He sank down into a chair he’d spent decades in as a faeling.
His rooms hadn’t changed since he’d last visited. Everything was exactly where he’d left it, down to the unfinished novel on the bedside table. But even though nothing physical had changed, with Solveig here, it was like a brand-new space.
She brought everything back to life.
The tan walls that had once been dull and boring were now warm and comfortable. He’d always hated the dead trees that grew from the floors in the corners of the room, but now he could see their charm, how they created the sense of nature. Untamed and free. Like his mate.
Candles burned brighter. The air was sweeter.
Hel, even the carpet felt more plush.
Her presence made the entire space inviting. As long as she was there with him, he never wanted to leave. Lock him up and throw away the key. She was all he needed.
Goddess, he was a goner.
“I understand why you didn’t.” Her strong voice broke the silence.
He whipped around to see that her eyes were now open, staring at him. “You do?”
“Yes. And while it was still wrong, I can appreciate the sentiment behind it. You kept it from me for what you thought was my own good.”
She was too far away. With a few quick strides, he rectified the situation. She placed her hands on his chest, and he winced at the current of power she shocked him with.
“But if you ever keep anything from me for my own good again”—she leaned in so her lips brushed against his—“I will attach a leash to your balls and drag you around by them.”
He chuckled, placing a light kiss on her delicious mouth. “You already have a tight grip on my balls, General.” He pulled back so he could look her in the eyes when he said, “I promise not to keep anything from you again. Regardless of your decision, I won’t assume I know best.”
“What do you mean, regardless of my decision?”
Westley took in a deep breath and rested his forehead against hers. “You haven’t accepted the bond, not that I blame you. Nor have you said anything about it . . . about me being your mate.”
He wasn’t foolish enough to think she would express her love for him. Just because they were mates didn’t mean she loved him.
“Beg,” she ordered.
His gaze snapped to hers. “What?”
“Beg me to be your mate,” she said, whispering against his lips.
“Will that satisfy you?” His heart raced away from him.
She smirked. “Depends on how well you beg.”
He huffed a laugh and pulled away.
“What are you doing?” she asked with a frown.
He immediately missed her warmth, but he had to do this right. Pulling her lips back to his, he kissed her once, then twice before moving to scrape his canines down her neck, relishing the way she arched into him.
The scent of her need matched his. His lips grazed down her throat.
“I need you. In every single way, I need you, Solveig,” he said between kisses, between savouring the skin on her chest. His hands roamed over her waist and hips, and he lowered to his knees, parting her robe with his hands.
“Be my mate.”
She moaned as he left kisses like promises down her body. His name slipped from her mouth, and he never wanted anyone but her to speak it again.
“Please.” He touched his lips to her hip and dragged his nose up the inside of her thigh before gripping her leg and hoisting it over his shoulder.
He looked up through hooded lids, staring directly into her eyes. “Please, Solveig. I’m already yours, but let me belong to you. Claim me.”
As if showing her what he intended to do, he flicked his tongue out to taste her skin. Close, he was so close. He’d never tasted anything so delicious.
“Please,” he whispered into the crease at the top of her leg. Every cell in his being screamed to keep going. But he had to wait for her.
“No.”