Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I should tell Winter she’s the child of a curse. Of a monster. But how? My mother waited until her deathbed.
—Lorinne Leroux’s private journal.
Winter’s feet were covered in blood and her palms were clammy.
“Much slower.”
She twirled on the dais a few more times to appease the queen.
Meanwhile, big round eyes burrowed into her from a couple yards away.
Winter didn’t need a bond by blood to feel West’s sorrow.
He carried his hurt the same way she did, hiding it deep inside him.
But sometimes it rippled off in violent waves—a sea of unending agony.
Pain was two-sided in that way. The period of stillness; the moment of awakening. And right now, his rage was stirring.
He flared his upper lip and exposed his vicious canines.
The blacks of his eyes were so big they omitted the hazel hue, leaving a ring of pure blue.
It was almost as if he didn’t know the queen could shift her magic into lethal appendages that snatched.
If he didn’t yield, they’d both die before Winter had the chance to make her move.
The serpent around her neck terrified her, but not as much as shadow hands that could yank and kill on command. The answer to the queen’s rhetorical question earlier never left her mind.
“After all, you owe me for saving his life, taking it away would be a waste of … How many was it?”
It was twenty werewolves, to be exact. They all died so that West could live. He needed to trust her—she couldn’t let all that sacrifice be for nothing. As Winter finished her fourth spin, she shot him a warning look, then fell onto the queen’s lap giggling. “I’m dizzy now.”
Sharp black nails grazed her thigh, sending chills up her spine. “Or too much champagne?” the queen suggested.
Winter half-smiled. “Both, maybe.”
“Are you drinking because you’re nervous or because you’re wishing to disappear? And don’t think about lying to me again, there’s a reason I keep my palace well-stocked—alcohol is a different form of freedom. Now out with it.”
Every sharp word sobered her. Instead of sitting tall, Winter slouched a little.
“You’ve requested I behave and I’m trying my best. I’m drinking to unwind, not forget.
” Her nose scrunched the moment she said it.
Her body was as traitorous as her heart, beating hard enough to pound through her dress.
The queen’s hand clamped down on Winter’s thigh. “I wish you wouldn’t lie to me, especially not while you’re this close and looking this good. I don’t want to punish you.”
Winter drew her shoulders back. “It’s not a lie to say I’m drinking because I’m nervous.” She dusted lint off the queen’s dress, desperate to deflect. “And I don’t mean to upset you.”
Sea blue eyes pierced into hers, so familiar they made Winter’s stomach spin. “Well you are.”
Winter leaned closer until they were nose-to-nose.
“As I said, I don’t mean to.” She swept dark, silky locks off the queen’s shoulder.
The black corseted top showed off smooth skin, sparkling with gold dust. Winter swooped towards her ear and kissed her lobe.
One peck over the diamond stud, then she sucked it into her mouth.
The queen moaned her delight.
Winter moved down the column of her throat, brushing her tongue along the citrus-infused skin. When she made it to the clavicle, she said, “I’ll require just one thing before I claim you, Queen Mara of the Immortals.”
“I will not release Mr. Sterling from the palace, he is mine.”
Winter grabbed the queen's throat and whispered, “Respectfully, he is mine,” then countered her threat with a hard kiss. The queen stilled. Winter’s lips pried hers apart, asking for more.
It didn’t take much convincing. The queen melted, giving Winter her mouth.
Together, their tongues clashed, hands wandered, and hearts raced.
Winter wasn’t expecting her lips to feel quite this soft. She pulled back, almost forgetting. “I’m talking about Felix, not West.”
The queen didn’t tighten her serpent collar. She looked as though she didn’t hear a word Winter had said and kissed her again.
Her mouth felt so much like Kaden’s. This was stirring up repressed memories. Long nights. Laughter. Love? Winter had been so foolish to fall for someone so manipulative, and even more so for thinking she knew what true love was.
If anyone should be witnessing this exchange as punishment, it was him.
She trailed a finger towards the queen’s collarbone.
Mentioning Felix had been a huge risk. The queen’s mood was ever-shifting, however, Winter just discovered a way to offset her anger.
Touch—a love language she’d once relied on.
It was no wonder her court busied themselves with pleasuring her. It made her easier to deal with.
“Well?” Winter whispered, parting from her lips.
“You want me to free Felix?”
She nodded, giving her best puppy eyes.
“Why?”
The answer was obvious—unless you were a psychopath. A familiar can only be freed by its maker. Winter’s hand moved lower, dancing over the queen’s cleavage. “Because I know where Felix is, and it was his only request before coming back.”
One truth. One lie. Winter wasn’t a gambler, but the odds were stacked in her favor. She knew this because the queen’s eyes had settled on her nipples the entire time they spoke. Winter took a fingernail to the queen’s chin, lifting her gaze. “Up here.”
“How does anyone resist you, Miss Leroux?”
“They don’t.”
The queen smiled, exposing small fangs.
As much as Winter wanted to believe they’d been filed down, her gut said they had something to do with her magic. No other mage in the land could wield snakes. Her powers weren’t just potent, they were unique.
“Release him from his feline form and I’m yours.”
After a hum, the queen held her wrist up to her mouth and punctured the skin with her abnormally sharp teeth.
Black-flecked blood welled in the wounds and trickled down her arm.
Only undiluted mage blood glittered in such a way—excess magic filtered into the bloodstream.
Her entire family had shining blue flecks.
Well, everyone except her. She’d really missed every single clue, and it was still embarrassing to think about.
The queen held her bleeding wrist against her heart and chanted in an unfamiliar language. Black smoke puffed where her hand met skin, forming a small cloud. Her eyelids fluttered, her head fell back against the throne, and her body jolted. A moment later, the magic dispersed like nothing happened.
The queen sat upright, blinking a few times. “Done. Now, bite me. I miss my dear Lexington. And make it last, Winter. A very long time. You owe me this.” Her heady gaze wandered to West, who was raking his claws against the marble.
Winter couldn’t look for more than a second. The queen was right, in a way. Without dark magic and evil games, West would still be dead.
What. Was. Winter. Doing?
First kissing the queen, then performing some witch ritual with her? They both had to be stopped. But he was stuck there, unable to move or speak. The only thing he could do was fight Winter’s hold on him.
One paw at a time, he trudged through the world as if it were made of clay. What felt like a mile was a mere scratch in the marble.
He’d not moved an inch.
Winter was fierce, resilient, and wildly powerful. Even the queen was drooling. Winter had that effect on everyone, it seemed.
But she was his mate.
He’d scratch this stone floor for hours if it meant being one inch closer to bashing the queen’s skull against it. They were all alone in this room. The time to kill the evil witch was now. So his question lingered: what was Winter doing?
Still seated on the queen’s lap, she played with the queen’s hair like they were school girls. The kind that fondled each other when they were alone. The queen’s hand roamed up and down Winter’s thigh, squeezing every so often. Winter’s giggling was so natural that his heart was about to break.
In fact, it was already splintering.
What did she mean by trust her?
Did she understand that a claiming went both ways? It wasn’t just emotion sharing, it was pleasure—the type she couldn’t escape.
He dropped his head and silently whined. If this was her play at freedom, he’d rather die.
Winter braided the queen’s hair off to one side, then grabbed it like a rope, pulling to expose her throat. The queen quivered with excitement.
Westley scratched and scratched, desperate for them to stop. He tried bashing his body against the invisible barrier, fighting his mate’s strength, but it was too late. The queen glared at him as Winter’s fangs dove into her flesh.
Every second his mate remained anchored to the queen, the weaker he became.
Especially as she traced the underside of the queen’s now-exposed breasts.
He could see the column of Winter’s throat bobbing as she swallowed all that wicked blood.
It didn’t matter how good it tasted; his mate shouldn’t be drinking it.
She hiked her dress up and straddled the dazed queen. Perhaps, facing away from him was easier. For her.
Soon, the claiming took hold. The queen gripped the throne and thrust her hips against Winter’s. His mate countered the movement—over and over. Winter even started to moan with her, undoubtedly blood-drunk. Whiskey wouldn’t touch the heat that came from that bite.
The more they ground against each other, the more his tears fell. Especially as the queen gasped Winter’s name.
His mate pulled back, revealing more than a bare and bloodied chest. Her fingers were between the queen’s legs, rubbing dampened silk. She didn’t stop there—she sucked the queen’s nipple into her mouth.
He was going to be sick again. Drawing his eyes away from them took considerable effort, but he managed to.
It wasn’t long before the queen’s orgasm pierced his eardrums, his heart, and his soul. He was surprised the ceiling didn’t shatter.
Moments later, footsteps sounded. He glanced up to see them stepping off the dais and walking towards him. Winter walked clumsily, like the heels were higher than she was used to. The better to stab him with, he supposed. Seal her deal in blood because he was dead anyway.
The queen’s smile was benevolent. “Westley, my love, your turn.”
I beg your pardon?
Asking to be claimed while he was in his wolf form was the equivalent of asking for death. His current fangs would tear her apart with one bite.
“Shift,” Winter ordered, her alpha voice strong. The queen squeezed her wrist—conveying an emotion he couldn’t sense.
Fear?
“And do not move when you are finished,” she added.
Ah, yes. The queen was afraid. Well, she should be because he was going to kill her. And why was Winter still treating him like this? He’d never ever do this to her. Was this punishment for all the pain he’d caused?
He blinked the thoughts away and shifted.
Shaking off his fur was easy when he’d been trapped in it for so long, desperate to change forms. As he stood there, awaiting his next order, he couldn’t have wiped the disgusted look off his face if he’d tried to.
Winter saw it, ignored it completely, and said, “Claim. Your. Queen.”
She was a natural with her power.
He moved towards her like there was air beneath his footsteps. Being compelled didn’t hurt him physically, only mentally. Maybe he did deserve this—he’d been using his alpha voice on his pack for years.
Standing before Winter, he wished to ask her why? Was this how she’d planned to gain her freedom? By hand-fucking and sucking on the imposter queen?
When he leaned in to claim his malicious mate, she seized his wrists. “Stop. Not me, West.”
But she was his queen—never Maradine. As much as he loathed Winter in this moment, the need to bite her remained. Why wouldn’t she let him?
She glanced down at his stomach and swallowed audibly. He followed her bewildered gaze, realizing he was covered in what had to be witch symbols. Runes. There were twelve in total, four across and three down. His abdomen was no more than a piece of paper in a spell book.
The queen glared back and forth between them. “That’s quite enough.” She enriched Winter’s collar, adding another hissing serpent. “I’ll fix this myself.”
Winter froze in what appeared to be shock and Westley couldn’t move—his last order had been to stop.
The queen placed fingers alongside her fresh puncture wounds and squeezed them together. She gathered the dribbling blood and slathered it over his new scars. When his stomach was covered in her black-flecked grime, she pressed a palm into his skin and made Winter order him to his knees.
That one hurt. His bones met marble at remarkable speed, nearly crushing them.
“What are you doing now?” Winter asked, her voice wavering.
“Hush.” The queen twirled her wrist, drawing a cough from Winter. “You’re behaving, remember? Or would you like to revisit your chains?”
Winter shook her head, petting the snake around her neck as if asking it to loosen up. “No, my queen.”
“Then be quiet.” She turned back to him.
“Westley, my love, do you know you died? It’s a shame you’re not allowed to speak because I would love to hear you tell me how thankful you are that I saved your life.
And I’m sure you’re very much wondering what it is I need from you in return for that favor.
Good news, we’ve done most of the work already.
” She took her nail between the crease of his eyebrows and jabbed.
“You’ll never be able to frown at me again.
” She gave him a shimmering smile, then recited her spell.
If affection is what you seek,
let it be yours to keep.
If love is all that you desire,
let it burn like fire.
The symbols on his abdomen glowed like embers, pulsing, until energy surged through him.
What was this? His body remained still, but his mind was warping.
He knew he was underground, he knew he didn’t want to be here, he knew Winter was his mate, but there was a part of him that was changing.
Something deep inside ticked, like the needle of an unreliable compass, and it pointed directly at the queen.
He was madly in love with Queen Mara of the Immortals.
Westley jolted, desperate to express his infatuation. Her grin pleased him. Moving closer, he pressed fingers to the bite mark on her collarbone, sniffed her blood, and began licking. She tasted sinful and sweet. He pulled the queen in close and latched on for more.
Her triumphant moan was louder than Winter’s cry.
Westley paused, thought about turning to his mate, but sunk fangs into his queen—his true love. There was no one else who mattered.
“Winter,” the queen purred, “Do join us now. After all, I gave you Felix.”