25. Lynn
— ? —
Lynn
“Where are we going?”
Milo’s hand is warm and firm around mine as he leads me through corridors I don’t recognize. The great hall is far behind us, the chaos of the council chamber fading into silence.
I should let go of his hand. You’re supposed to stop touching people you’re furious with.
I don’t let go.
His thumb keeps moving over my knuckles, slow, back and forth, and I catch myself tracking it, the callus at the base of his thumb, the size of his hand swallowing mine, the way his grip loosens every few steps in a small check that I haven’t bolted, then tightens again when he finds I’m still there.
My skin has gone stupid about it. Every pass of that thumb lands somewhere lower than my hand.
Stop it, I tell myself. You crossed hostile territory on a bus. You have a grievance. Several, actually, itemized.
But he smells like the woods and the cold night air and underneath it that warm skin-and-cedar thing that’s just him, and I’ve spent twenty-four hours starving for exactly this, and my body is a traitor with no sense of timing.
Somewhere between the great hall and here, wanting him stopped being a decision I got to make.
“My quarters.”
“Your quarters?”
“The pack moved your things there while you were-” He stops himself. “While I was in session.”
“My things?”
“Your bag. The hamster supplies. Everything you brought.”
I clutch Mr. Darcy’s carrier tighter. “I didn’t tell anyone to move my things.”
“The pack assumed.”
“Assumed what?”
He doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself.
The corridor we’re walking through is different from the rest of the compound. Warmer, somehow. More lived-in. Tapestries hang on the walls, ancient, beautiful things depicting scenes I don’t entirely understand, and the stone floor is covered with thick rugs that muffle our footsteps.
We stop in front of a massive wooden door.
“The king’s quarters,” Milo says, and there’s something strained in his voice. “My rooms. Where I stay when I’m here instead of the university.”
He opens the door.
The room beyond is enormous. Vaulted ceilings. A fireplace that’s already crackling with warmth. Bookshelves lining every available wall. Comfortable furniture scattered throughout.
And in the center of the room, dominating the space like a throne:
One bed.
A massive, four-poster, obviously-designed-for-royalty bed with silk sheets and approximately seventeen pillows.
One bed.
“Oh,” I say.
Milo’s hand tightens on mine. “The pack assumed we’d share. I can sleep elsewhere - the floor, the couch, the roof if necessary-”
“Get in the bed, you enormous idiot.”
He blinks at me. “What?”
“I’m still pissed.” I set Mr. Darcy’s carrier on a side table and turn to face him. “I’m furious with you. But I missed you too, and if you think I’m going to let you sleep on the floor after the day I’ve had, you’ve lost your lycan mind.”
“Lynn-”
“Get. In. The bed.”
His jaw works. His eyes shift between green and gold, caught between the human and the wolf.
“There are things I need to tell you first.”
“Then tell me.” I climb onto the bed, it’s so tall I practically have to scramble, and settle against the mountain of pillows. “Talk. Explain. Grovel beautifully. I’ll wait.”
He stares at me like I’m something he can’t quite believe.
Then he moves.
He crosses to the bed in three long strides, kicks off his shoes, and climbs up beside me. Not touching, maintaining a careful distance, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
“The note was wrong,” he starts.
“It was a note.”
“I know. I should have woken you. I should have explained everything before I left.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, and he looks exhausted, I realize.
Dark circles under his eyes. Lines of tension around his mouth.
“The council called an emergency session. Four elders forced it - they have that right, under our laws. And once I was in that chamber, they kept extending. Kept raising new motions. Kept finding ways to hold me there.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t want you to participate in the ritual. They don’t want-” He hesitates. “They don’t want you to be part of this pack.”
“Because I’m human.”
“Yes. And because they’re afraid of change.” His hand finds mine in the darkness. “My father led this pack for forty years. He was traditional, careful, predictable. And then he died, and suddenly I’m in charge, and I’m-”
“Different?”
“Different. Younger. Making choices they don’t understand.” His thumb strokes across my knuckles. “Choosing someone they didn’t approve.”
“They don’t know me.”
“They don’t care. They know you’re human. They know you’re not what they expected. That’s enough for them to object.”
I process this. The cold welcome at the gates. The stares, the silence, the deliberate dismissal.
“And the annulment?”
“A motion to bar you from the ritual. Another motion to review my ‘succession criteria’ - which is political speak for questioning whether I’m fit to be king.”
“Because of me?”
“Because of everything. But yes.” His voice is rough. “Mostly because of you. Because I chose you, and they don’t think I should have that right.”
“What happened? In the session?”
“I held them off. For now.” His grip on my hand tightens. “But it’s not over. They’re going to challenge me - officially, formally, in front of the entire pack. And when they do…”
“You’ll win.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.” I turn to face him in the darkness.
“I know you’re the most infuriatingly competent person I’ve ever met.
I know you care about your pack more than you care about yourself.
And I know-” I poke him in the chest. “That you’re not getting rid of me that easily.
So whatever challenge they throw at you, you’re not facing it alone. ”
He catches my hand against his chest. His heart is pounding under my palm, fast, faster than it should be.
“Lynn.”
“What?”
“I need to tell you something else.”
His voice comes out strained and desperate, barely controlled.
“Okay.”
“My-” He swallows hard. “Do you remember when I told you about lycan biology? The instincts, the bonding, the…”
“The rut?” I feel my face heat. “Yes. I remember.”
“It’s happening. Now. Early.” His hand is shaking where it holds mine. “Your scent in my den - my territory, my space - it’s triggered something I wasn’t expecting. And I can’t-”
He breaks off, pulling away from me, swinging his legs off the bed.
“I should go. I should find somewhere else to sleep until it passes. I don’t want to-”
“Milo.”
“I can’t control it, Lynn. Not completely. And you’re already upset with me, and the last thing I want is to-”
I grab his collar.
He freezes.
“Get back in this bed,” I say quietly.
“You don’t understand-”
“I understand that you’ve spent the last three days fighting to keep me.
I understand that I walked through a crowd of hostile lycans to find you.
I understand that we’re both exhausted and angry and done with being apart.
” I pull him toward me. “So get back in this bed and let me take care of you for once.”
“Lynn-”
“Now, Milo.”
He turns his head to look at me. His eyes are fully amber now, glowing in the darkness, and his breathing is ragged.
“If we start this,” he says, “I don’t know if I can stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
“I’ll be… intense,” he warns, and his voice has already dropped into that register that lives somewhere below language.
“You’re always intense.”
“Not like this. The rut doesn’t care that you’re angry with me.
It doesn’t care about anything but you.” His forehead drops to mine, and through the fragile new thread between us I feel it, the sheer scale of what he’s holding back, a wall of want so vast it makes my knees go.
“I can feel how wet you are from here, Lynn. I’ve been able to feel it since you told me to get in the bed.
Do you have any idea what that does to me? ”
“I’m still furious with you,” I whisper, even as I pull him down by the collar.
“I know.” His mouth grazes my jaw. “Be furious. Be furious and take me anyway. I’ll earn the rest back in the morning.”
I feel him waver, the exact moment want starts winning. But even wavering, he can’t help the warning.
“It affects everything,” he says roughly. “My control. My stamina. My-”
“Your stamina?” I raise an eyebrow. “Bold claim. Prove it.”
“It’s not a-” He groans. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m practical. And right now, practically speaking, I think we both need to stop talking and start-”
He’s on me before I can finish.
His mouth crashes into mine with an intensity that steals my breath. His hands are everywhere, my hair, my face, my waist, sliding under my sweater to find bare skin. And the sounds he’s making, desperate, broken, almost pained-
“Sorry,” he gasps against my lips. “I’m sorry, I can’t - I need-”
“Stop apologizing and take off your shirt.”
He laughs, or maybe sobs, and then he’s pulling back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, and I get my first look at him.
God.
God.
His body is… unfair. Broad shoulders, defined muscles, a trail of dark hair leading down his stomach to where his pants sit low on his hips. And the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the only thing that matters, like I’m water and he’s been dying of thirst-
“Your turn,” he says, his voice a growl.
I pull off my sweater.
His eyes go dark and hot.
“Lynn.”
“Too slow.” I reach for his belt. “We’re going faster.”
What follows is chaos.
His hands tear at my jeans, literally tear, the sound of ripping denim loud in the quiet room, while his mouth traces a burning path down my neck. My bra disappears somewhere. His pants follow.
And then there’s nothing between us.
“Tell me,” he pants, positioning himself above me. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this.”
“Tell me you want me.”
“I want you, Milo. All of you. Even the parts you try to hide.”
He slides into me.
The sensation is overwhelming. He’s big, bigger than I remember, which shouldn’t be possible, and the stretch borders on too much before it tips into exactly right.