23. The Prize
THE PRIZE
I found an unsigned note when I opened my door, written in the same bold, flowery handwriting as last time. I sniffed the note, a smile climbing up my mouth.
Damien must have written this not long ago. His scent was still strong on the paper.
I waited until past three in the morning, when most servants had already returned to their chambers, before slipping out of my room.
A thunderstorm had arrived in Erevos a couple of hours ago. The incessant sound of raindrops crashing against the window pane was occasionally joined by the explosive crackling of thunderclaps.
The corridors were quietly stretched between the flickering lamplight and the erratic flashes of white lightning, seemingly even more deserted than usual at such an hour. The thick carpet absorbed the sound of my steps, allowing me to pass like a weightless ghost.
I had to hide several times when I sensed night patrollers approaching. Luckily, none of them noticed me. I found my way to the west wing, climbing up the narrow spiral stairs, and went directly to the storage room.
I took a deep breath to quell the fluttering feeling that had been plaguing me this whole night.
I wasn’t sure if I was nervous, scared, or thrilled ...
maybe all of them and more. The mark on my neck had been pulsing since I called to Damien through it, as though it had a heart of its own, like it had been awakened from a slumber, and decided to nag me constantly.
Pushing the door open, I was greeted by a room soaked in warm candlelight.
Dozens of candles were placed on the old furniture, on the floor, and lined the windowsills.
The hazy orange light was a stark contrast to the raging thunderstorm outside, and I wondered how long Damien had spent lighting all these candles.
I didn’t think anyone would help him, since this was our secret spot.
Speaking of him, I hadn’t seen him anywhere, even though his scent engulfed me like a dark wave immediately. I called tentatively, “Damien?”
As I was calling him, my eyes fell on a journal lying on the windowsill, its pages open, filled with words. A pen and an ink bottle lay nearby.
Were they Damien’s? Did he keep a diary or something?
Suddenly, a pair of hands stealthily wrapped around my waist and pulled me back. I stumbled into a warm chest; hot breath brushed against my neck before I felt a pair of lips rub against my mating mark.
My breath hitched, and my body didn’t tense up like a warrior should have when someone “attacked” me from behind. On the contrary, I leaned back, exposing my neck further for him to access.
“Finally ...” he murmured, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment.”
I chuckled. “You touched me multiple times yesterday in the fighting ring.”
“That didn’t count,” he argued idly. His hand slid under my tunic as he spoke, caressing my belly; his fingers traced the dips between my ab muscles.
His mouth moved up to my earlobe, nibbling playfully, while his sensuous words glided into my ear canal: “So ... you helped me win the third match today, using our mate bond ... That was very sweet of you.”
It was perhaps the first time anyone used “sweet” to describe me since I was ten ... I disentangled myself from him, taking a few steps forward to put some space between us, and suddenly felt the need to clarify what I did today.
“I was only trying to stop you from being killed,” I said, turning around to face him. “I warned you, didn’t I? Ser Garran was definitely not only trying to defeat you ...”
My words trailed off as I took him in ...
Damien was not in his usual doublet or tunic.
A long, flowy black silk robe was draped over his statuesque frame, unfastened, revealing his broad, firm chest and eight-pack, well-defined abs.
The soft candlelight trickled along his sun-bronzed, smooth skin like a layer of honey.
Even the bruises and not-yet-healed claw marks couldn’t diminish the alluring view.
I gulped, suddenly forgetting what I was about to say.
He grinned, dark and beautiful, like the sinful blooming of the black peony. “Like what you see?”
I didn’t even know how to answer that ...
He took a few slow, graceful steps toward me, yet his gaze was intense and hungry. He said, “I won three games today. Are you going to honour your promise?”
I held my chin high and said, “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“I want to have you, all the way. Do you know what it means?” His sharp gaze focused on my mating mark, no longer covered by the concealer Johnathan gave me.
“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat, and continued, “it means the mark will last longer, the bond will grow stronger.”
“And I know you wanted it to fade, so I’ve been holding myself back. But I’m not sure if I want to hold back tonight, especially after what you did for me earlier ...” His words were heavy with desire, and his scent shrouded me like a spider web. “So if you have any doubts, leave now.”
Looking squarely into his eyes, I said, “I wouldn’t have come if I had doubts.”
His smile brightened for a moment, and then morphed back into the rakish, lopsided smirk. He moved past me and sat in an armchair, then said, “Come here, stand before me.”
So it began. I took a deep breath, trying to settle my frantically thumping heart a little. My feet carried me to the spot he pointed at.
“Still remember the safe word?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good, undress now,” he ordered in a nonchalant voice, leaning back into the chair. “Completely.”
I only paused for a second before moving my fingers to untie my belt, unbutton my tunic, then pull the linen shirt over my head. The awkwardness began to creep in when I pulled down my breeches and underwear.
It was strange: I had bathed fully naked in an ice river before other warriors without a second thought; I had joined many Full Moon Hunts and transformed with other naked alphas; I had proudly taken off my clothes and loomed over my omega lovers, enjoying their wet, admiring gazes, but now, exposing myself fully before Damien, I felt vulnerable and nervous, as though I was suddenly a virgin again.
Perhaps it was because of the way he was staring at me. He sprawled on the armchair as though leisurely watching a performance or appraising a sword. The way he licked his lips as his eyes glided across my skin made me extremely self-conscious.
Was this how my past omega and beta lovers felt when I ogled them in the same way? How the fuck did they even manage to act all seductive and natural and not freeze like a half-wit, like I was doing right now?
Damien suddenly closed his eyes and groaned in frustration. Just as I was worrying if he was disappointed about something to do with me, he said, “Why are you so fucking beautiful?”
I coughed and said, “That’s an unusual choice of words ...”
“Not unusual at all.” His words came out languid and smooth, like slowly dripping molasses. “I can tell you for a fact that anyone who has laid their eyes on you thought the same. You don’t know how beautiful you are, do you, my little wolf.”
Why does he keep calling me his “little wolf”?! I was not “little” in any respect!
I looked away, trying to ignore the growing warmth on my face.
Damien patted his lap and said, “Sit here.”
I didn’t move, glaring at him. Was he seriously telling me to ... sit on his lap? Naked no less?
“Fenris, do not make me repeat my order.” His voice lowered into a warning growl, and his gaze darkened.
I cursed under my breath and stepped toward him, rigidly setting my bare buttocks on his lap. Even when I was a cub, I had never sat on anyone’s lap like this. On the contrary, normally it was wenches sitting on my lap as they whispered sweet nonsense into my ears.
Damien ran a hand down my spine, sliding all the way down the small of my back. Goosebumps prickled on my skin, though more from anticipation rather than uneasiness. I mumbled, “This is weird ...”
Damien chuckled indulgently. “Relax, there is no one here, no one will judge you. You are safe with me.”
Seeing that I was still as rigid as a log, he wrapped his left arm around my waist, pulling me toward him, then picked up his wine glass with the other hand and took a sip.
The next moment, his lips were pressed tightly on mine, as the wine flowed from his mouth into mine.
I was taken by surprise and only swallowed about half a mouthful; the rest dribbled from the corner of my mouth and trickled down my chin and my neck.
His tongue swirled in my mouth, chasing the taste of the wine in every corner. Then, he fed me another mouthful of wine, and I drank every drop of it. I wondered if he was going to get me drunk this way, that would take forever ...
After the third wine-imbued kiss, he moved his attention down to my chest. His teeth clamped on one of the small buds, pulling and sucking as though he expected to draw something from it. I whimpered, but then bit my own lips to stop the noise.
“Don’t hold back, I like to hear you,” he muttered against my skin.
Meanwhile, his right hand had put down the wine glass and closed around my already half-awakened shaft.
Slowly yet deliberatively, he worked his hand on me, all the while still torturing my right nipple with his teeth.
Acute pleasure crackling under my skin, rippling through my veins.
At some point, I couldn’t hold back my moaning anymore.
However, he abruptly removed his hand as I was oh-so-close to the edge. I whimpered again in frustration, wanting to use my own hand to push through the last few steps, but he slapped my hand away and said in a domineering voice, “Did I allow you to touch your cock yet?”
“No ...” I answered grievously. It had been way too many days, yet he still hadn’t granted me permission.
“Get on the bed, kneel on all four. There’s a bottle of oil on the nightstand,” Damien’s velvety voice slithered into my ear. “I want to watch you ready yourself for me.”