25. Willow
Chapter 25
Willow
I am trapped between Styx’s indomitable body and a castle. The night is cold, but I feel none of it. Only heat as his teasing tongue starts a leisurely exploration of my cheek, tasting, kissing along to nibble my earlobe. “I’m not going to love you like they do.”
At first, my heart sinks when I think he’s rejecting me—just like Legion. But something in his tone gives me pause. I see the image of his dejected face after Bodin and Legion made me come. He felt left out, and then I publicly claimed him with violence. Something he seemed to enjoy. And then I went and apologized for it, taking it back.
Maybe he’s not angry because he’s ashamed of his otherness but because he’d hoped to find a mate who loved him as he was. Someone who doesn’t like to hide behind shadows, but someone who shouts their emotions from the rooftops.
I push him back to look into his eyes. “You think I’m sorry for claiming you?”
A flash of that hurt. Then it’s gone. “I don’t care what you think.”
“Then why did you ask if I liked what I saw?” My eyebrow arches as I take his still-hard erection and squeeze. “Admit it.”
“You admit it,” he groans breathily, thrusting into me.
“I mean, it’s okay.” I lick my lips, fingers clenching around his length as if I’m testing the girth. “A little on the small side.”
His brows raise, then slam down as he growls, “You won’t say that when I’m pushing into your tight hole.”
“Maybe.”
He tenses. I stifle a smile. His buttons are too easy to push.
“Maybe?” He pauses. Thinks. Then his lips curve wickedly. “I mean the other tight hole, fangs.”
Hot, liquid heat snakes through my body as his palms glide around my hips, heading toward my rear. My heart races. I know where he’s going. I can stop him. But I don’t want to. I hold my breath as his fingers curl between my buttocks, pushing against the dress’s barrier until he hits my back entrance, making me whimper.
“There?” I whisper, a little turned on. A little nervous.
“Scared yet?”
“No.”
I stroke him through his pants. They’re looser with his tail out. Must have ripped through the seam when he shifted. But it gives me the freedom to pump harder, faster.
He makes a strangled sound deep in his throat. His entire body exhales against me. His wings rustle and settle into a beautiful mantle along his shoulders, talons like draconic pauldrons. The dark, silken lengths spread out behind him on the snow as he gifts me with a moment of trust, a gentle interlude. This feels more like an embrace now, his chin resting on my shoulder. His fingers on my ass gather my dress in slow, walking increments. His tail loosens its hold around my ankles and slides up my legs, lifting my dress for his fingers to slip beneath.
“Your ass is mine, Willow,” he mutters hoarsely, breath hot on my ear. “When you’re ready to admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“That you’re our queen.”
“Mate.”
He chuckles. Kisses me. Gives a breathy groan when I pump him harder.
“First, I’ll lick it.” His finger strokes along my inner thigh, inching toward my slit. “Then I’ll rim it.” His tongue traces circles on my cheek, winding closer to my lips. “Then I’ll stretch it with my tongue.” He licks along my lower lip. “I’ll make it fit,” he whispers against me. “And you’ll love it. You’ll learn to love it.”
My heart stutters. I fist his hair, yank his head, and force him to meet my eyes. The black is gone. The spikes, horns, and the blue skin are gone. There is no mocking amusement, either. Just blue, vulnerable eyes and a handsome face overcome with longing. His expressionless mask slams up—and he’s gone, leaving me clutching cold air.
I close my eyes and try to work through what just happened. My chest is tight and aching. It’s that place I always react when my mates are near. I rub it, hoping to ease the pain, but it refuses to budge. It needs to be fed, to be touched. Styx has left me bereft. Empty.
That wolfish part of me is an emotional, irrational bitch. Right now, she wants to howl with indignation. She wants her pack. She aches for their comforting warmth. That bitch can also be a possessive, feral predator when she sees her mate suffering. Unfortunately for me, she also isn’t that smart. She acts on instinct. She hurts things. People.
Flexing my aching fists, I pace in the snow and welcome the numbness climbing up my limbs. My crunching footsteps hurtle me into the past, to another time I paced in the snow with Rory by my side. I was eleven and had been in Crystal City for five years.
“Stop crying, Willow,” Rory growls at me. “Before he hears you.”
“But it’s cold. I want to go inside.” I stumble to a halt, my tears turning to ice on my face. “The other kids are learning to dance, and I’m ? —”
“Hush.” She crouches before me and takes my shoulders, gripping me hard as she hisses, “He’s just over the hedge, sitting on the bench by the fountain.”
“But Alfie and ? —”
She shakes me until my teeth rattle and my tears renew. Pain and guilt enter her eyes, now glistening like mine. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, tugging me close and cupping my hair with her gloved hands. “Willow, learn this lesson. Learn it now and learn it good.” She holds me tight and strokes my hair. Her voice wavers with sadness. “Dispose of emotions, or he will use them to exploit you. He will find your friends, punish and even kill them to make you obey. Trust me, darling. It’s better to keep a clear mind and focus on the task at hand.”
“I hate him.”
“No . . . even this emotion is wasted. He can use it against you, too. If it’s not him, then it’s your enemy using it. Emotion is the key to finding your weak spot. Lock it all down. Erase it from your mind. Only then can you fly free.”
“But that feels wrong.”
“You’ll learn to love it.” She gives me a sad smile, eyes glimmering as she looks at the wall keeping me from my home. “And at least the world will still turn.”
“What do you mean?”
She deadpans. “I meant, at least you’ll still be alive.”
I look at my blood-stained fingers turning blue under the moonlit sky. I was never good at following Rory’s rules. My emotions are too big. Too demanding. Whether it’s love, hate, or anything in between—it’s there, smack bang in the center of my chest, begging for a connection I don’t know how to make. I fall hard onto my ass, my head in my hands.
I don’t know how to be a wolf. I don’t know how to be fae. I don’t know how to be human. I certainly don’t want to be a queen. So how the fuck can I be what Fox wants me to be—their source of unconditional love? How can I reunite my hive if I keep causing trouble?
If I lose my temper like that outside of Burn After Reading, I put a target on those I’m trying to protect. Not just on the Six, but Geraldine, Peggy, and Max. Anyone I care about will suffer because of me.
I’m so glad they weren’t there to witness that. So grateful no one will remember because that darkness only scraped the surface of what I’m capable of. Bodin said he was open to helping me make a blood connection through water to speak with my parents, but I can’t let them see me like this. I can’t do it.
I’m not sure how long I sit there staring at my numb fingers, but when rustling and crunching announce Bodin’s arrival, I pretend to do what Rory taught me. I dispose of emotion and face him with thinly veiled bravery.
He helps me to my feet with pity in his eyes.
“Styx was here,” I say, teeth chattering. “Then he went.”
“He’s smoothing things over with Cait.”
Relief drops my shoulders. I don’t know why that makes me feel better, but the thought of him being alone doesn’t sit right. “And Legion?”
“Ensuring Styx does as he’s told.” He lifts my swollen knuckles and inspects the wounds. “May I?”
I shake my head and tug my hands, hiding them behind my back. I deserve to feel the pain. The woman I beat up, the one whose eyes—I squeeze my eyes shut. Lock it all down.
His long-suffering sigh reminds me of a parent. It’s a sigh one gives when dealing with a child . . . a naughty and irritating pain in the ass child.
“I’m sorry, I messed up.”
I used to be annoyed at hand-signing my sorrys and thankyous in Elphyne to avoid a Well-enforced debt. But now I understand why the Well does this. Words are empty. For an apology or gratitude to mean something, actions are needed.
“Messed up?” Confusion flickers over his face. Is that a dark blush staining his cheeks?
“Not us,” I clarify. “I’m sorry that I started a fight. Sorry I hurt people. Sorry I forgot to hunt for stones we can use as charms. I messed up.”
He takes me by the shoulders and pins me with his dark gaze.
“No matter what I do,” I whisper. “I keep hurting people. Life just feels like . . .” My mind reaches for an appropriate explanation, but I come up short.
He grazes his knuckles against my cheek. “We are all wisps, floating aimlessly?—”
“Yes!” I exclaim. “Exactly. The moment I think I’ve figured things out, meaning either darts away from me or it slams into me with insanity.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” he scolds. “I was going to say, searching for a home. You did nothing wrong tonight.”
“But Styx . . .”
“Is more wounded than you will know.” A small smile touches his lips as his knuckles move to caress the old scars on my face. “What you did tonight was . . . no one has ever fought for us like that. I feel that truth in my bones, even if I can’t remember. Knowledge that deep, that right . . . let’s just say, if you call that hurt, then I will wish upon the stars for it nightly.”
“Lies,” I accuse, despite my lips curving. “What do you really wish for?”
“I wish for you to get warm and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, you’re back at the Nexus.” He places a vial in my hand. Folds my fingers over it.
“What’s this?” I ask, but when I look, I recognize the pink elixir. It must be from Cait. “I guess this means you’re not firing me as your mate?”
“No, Calamity.” His eyes heat. “We’re keeping you.”