Jessamine
Kier might have been in chains and covered in dirt and blood, but there will never be any man as beautiful as him. He hasn’t noticed me yet, his teeth bared at the guards fighting to put him on his knees. The humans gasp, the smell of their fear filling the room when his bound arms ram into the side of a guard’s head, knocking him out.
That earns him a growl from Killian who doesn’t hesitate to draw his sword and ram it into the back of Kier’s head. My mate stumbles, his blood spilling down his torn brown shirt, and he falls on one knee. I start to stand from Atticus’s lap, a growl traveling up my throat, when Atticus breathes against my neck, “Does his discomfort trouble you? You forget that he abandoned you, left you to rot here while he chose them again over you.”
Kier would never, but I don’t say that. My mind is whirling in so many directions. How could he surrender? How could he let them…take him? How…my eyes widen when Lloyd walks in next and bows low, to the hip as he addresses Atticus. “As discussed, I have brought him to you, Your Majesty.”
As discussed? My head snaps left and I stare wide-eyed at Atticus. “What is the meaning of this?”
A rueful smile. “You really thought you could hide it from me?”
Cold sweat breaks on my forehead, rolling down my skin, and I start to think back on every single move I’ve made to win him over in the last few months. What gave me away? What did I do wrong? How did he find out—
“Happy birthday, dove,” he whispers.
I blink. “What did you say?”
“I heard from the girl that it was today.” Raya. I’d said it in the passing when we’d been speculating when her godson would be born. Atticus grins. “I thought it’d be perfect to bring him to you, to do with as you see fit.”
I understand it then. This is a fucking test of loyalty. One, I’m about to fail woefully because I itch to kill Lloyd for bringing Kier here. But it makes absolutely no sense. Sure, Lloyd was unstable when I last saw him, but there’s no way he wrapped Kier in chains and dragged him all the way to Ashbourne. He’s a gamma. How could he have managed that? Did he have help? How long has he been communicating with Atticus?
“Look at him,” Atticus says, cutting through my thoughts.
I turn my gaze forward to see Kier completely subdued, the guards tugging on his chains and poking at him like he’s some animal. My heart hurts so bad at the sight of him surrounded by enemies who stare at him with contempt and curiosity. I want nothing more than to run into his arms and bury my face in his neck, sniff him, tell him how much I miss him, tell him I love him and our baby—
“How do you find my home, Kiernan Tanner?” Atticus cooes, and my mate raises his head towards us for the first time.
When Kier’s eyes fall on the throne—on me specifically—I become acutely aware of what position I am seated in, how Atticus’s lips move along my skin, his fingers caressing my belly, the state of my disheveled hair and sweaty skin, and my racing heart. His face slackens, and when they fall to my swollen belly, there is confusion in his hazel eyes.
He tilts his head, observing every inch of me, from the hair sticking out of my braid to my booted feet, and back up again, noting the fingers on my stomach. His eyes harden and then flare, and his face transforms into something scary. “Is it mine?”
No one else exists in this room. Not the council or guests, or the human maids lingering behind to stare at the wolf king, not the guards with their swords aimed at him, not Atticus whose lips are once again on my neck, dangerously close to Kier’s mark. No. There’s only Kier. And his monstrous aura, his anger that presses down on me from all sides, taking my breath away.
Tears spring to my eyes. How could he not know it was his child? How could he not smell—of course he wouldn’t. I’ve been away for too long, and only now does it dawn on me that I wasn’t the only one scheming. Atticus has been too. I’m completely covered in his scent. Those late-night strolls to the gardens, his hugs that I’d thought meant he was falling in love with me, his kisses on my neck and forehead that I’d thought meant he was being possessive of me, he was marking me with his scent. Every fucking day, he’d use his to rid Kier’s and I hadn’t even realized it.
Until now. Until Kier looks me in the eye and asks if I’ve parted my legs for another man and let me womb accept his child—because that is all I hear right now, and it makes me so, so angry.
How could he leave me here—for months!—and ask me that? What if Atticus had killed me? That aside, didn’t he know me? Didn’t he trust me?
I start to scream at him but I am reminded of Atticus’s presence when his other hand digs into the small of my back. “Go on. You can tell him,” he encourages.
This is it. My test. I tell the truth and everything I’ve worked towards will be ruined. Atticus will know I’ve been pretending, and while I do not fear many things, I do fear his instability. His depravity. He’ll kill Kier immediately if I say the truth, and I won’t let that happen.
Breathing heavily, I hold Kier’s gaze and lie to him. “No.”
Kier’s lips part, and his brows furrow. “You’re lying,” he whispers, more to himself than me, and I see a struggle ensue within him as he repeats those words, trying to understand why I would utter such a despicable lie. And he comes up with none, the fool. How could he doubt me like this? He was so overwhelmed with anger and the betrayal he saw before him in the form of his mate in the arms of another man, that he didn’t read the emotions in my gaze, or the see the tears I blinked back.
He looks away from me, fixing his eyes somewhere else, refusing to acknowledge me again, and goddess, did it hurt. And make me so mad. I would understand if I was in his shoes. I would know that my mate would never betray me like that—not on purpose. But clearly, I really should stop expecting everyone else to think like I do.
“I didn’t quite expect you to deliver, brother-in-law, but I must say, you surprise me every time,” Atticus croons sweetly at Lloyd, who manages to look in awe of him. “We shall discuss on your reward later.” Atticus inclines his head towards a guard slacking off by the door. “Escort him to his chambers.”
Lloyd bows again before strutting out proudly, like he’s achieved something no one else could—and I suppose he has.
And, just like that, I am forgotten as Atticus and the old pricks on his council begin deciding on when it might be best to publicly execute Kier. It is all to make a statement. But executing Kier would come with complications. While it might have been easy to usurp Hamon’s throne after killing him, Kier rules over a kingdom of wolves and his alliance with Dawn remains. Atticus would have too many enemies to fight off. Another war, too many casualties. It wasn’t wise. They come to a deadlock on what to do with him and decide to keep him in the dungeons until the obvious problem has been taken care of—getting my father on his side first.
All the while, I watch Kier and he stares pointedly elsewhere, his face giving nothing away. But I’ve known him for long enough to understand his tells. Hate and angst radiate off him in copious amounts and it’s a wonder he hasn’t yet…exploded.
I’m angry and frustrated by the end of the meeting, and it takes so much self-control to remain seated as everyone leaves, some kicking at Kier’s chains on their way out, expecting some sort of crazed reaction from him. But he remains silent, his mass of hair hiding most of his facial features from me.
“Try not to look so glum, Kiernan. It’s been quite some time since I saw you. You were but a babe in sweet Renae’s hands.” Sweet Renae is accompanied by a sensual groan that none of us miss, and my gaze snaps to Kier. He doesn’t take the bait and still won’t look at us. Atticus laughs, clearly the only one enjoying this.
“Angry, are you? Surrendering to save her and finding that she has been otherwise occupied. Betrayal like this does quite a number to one’s soul,” he adds, letting his fingers drift up my stomach, under my breasts and I flinch. It’s been months since Atticus touched me inappropriately. All of this arises from the need to prove to Kier that I am indeed his woman, and from the cold fury in Kier’s eyes, I can tell it’s working.
Bloody idiot. We’re back here again. Trust everyone else but me. Believe the words of a rambling psychopath over mine.
You did tell him the child wasn’t his, a small voice speaks into the back of my mind and I shove it out.
I tune Atticus out as he keeps taunting Kier, mostly because I can feel myself nearing the end of my patience, and I’m a little startled when he asks aloud, “Do you wish to speak to him in private, dove?”
What is he trying to do? How would a love-struck idiot respond to that? I lean back into him. “The Alpha and I have nothing to talk about—”
“Like hell we don’t!” Kier snaps for the first time, his eyes burning a bright gold.
Turning my head to Atticus, I force fear into my gaze. “I don’t want to be left alone with him. He’ll…” My lips tremble and my voice catches. “He might hurt me…and our child.” I take Atticus’s fingers, my eyes widening with child-like innocence. “You said you’d never leave me. You promised.”
Kier makes a hateful remark accompanied by a string of cusses that I totally ignore as I stare deeply into Atticus’s eyes, like he’s the only man that exists for me in this world. This is what he wanted and I’ll give it to him. Assurance. He looks slightly uncomfortable for the first few seconds, blinking up at me with disbelief…and wonder, and when Kier pulls on his chains too loudly, Atticus looks away, the first signs of a blush forming on his cheeks.
“Killian,” he says after clearing his throat twice and the captain’s arrival is announced by the parting of the large doors. Atticus waves them off. “Take him.”
As Kier is led out the door, he gives me a look that says, This isn’t over, and I smile coldly in response.
************
Kier
It had taken months to infiltrate every guard detail Atticus owned—months of working closely with a reluctant and half sane man to learn every inch of this castle, as well as fortifying Neredia’s defenses enough that my absence wouldn’t be felt. Months of nightmare after nightmare of getting Jessamine’s head delivered to me in the same box of fingers I received every fortnight.
I’d known the bloody package of feminine, elegant fingers didn’t belong to Jessamine, but it still scared me. More times than not, when the waiting became unbearable, I’d train until my knuckles were bloody, until my muscles pulled and cramp. And to sleep, I’d drown myself in the liquor. It killed me to not go after her immediately, but I couldn’t. Not then. Not until I had men positioned in the most crucial spots in the castle. The walls and gates, the watchtowers, the tunnels, and the elite.
We’ve achieved enough to stage a deposition, all to get Jessamine back, and now, she’s looking at the enemy like she loves him. She lets him touch her, kiss her, and from his smell on her skin…anger reignites in my chest, burning too hot, it hurts me.
My escort shoves me roughly, groaning in annoyance as I slip on the vile, slimy liquid staining the floors. Such poor, inhumane conditions for a dungeon. The stench of urine and something more sickening greets my nostrils as we reach my cell and I note the guard reaching for the sets of keys hanging off his belt. Too many. Stealing it would be an inconvenience.
Leaning forward, I let my arm brush against the bars and I wince as a biting cold burns my flesh.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” comes from the opposite direction, and the anger that had remained a restless burn beneath my skin erupts. A guttural snarl tears from my throat as I lunge forward with strength that surprised the guards stationed about each cell, and they stumble back, momentarily disoriented.
My escort growls a cuss, his speed nearly matching mine as his fingers close around my arm in an attempt to pull me back, but I twist and shove him hard enough to send him sprawling. Another appears before me and I swing the chains dangling from my bound wrists, the satisfying crack a whisper compared to the roaring in my ears that drown out the shouts of surprise and the guards scrambling for their weapons.
The bars of Darrock’s cell become my only focus, and I weave through every desperate attempt to subdue me until my body hits the bars with a loud clang. The sweat on my skin hisses and I ignore the pain, gripping the bars and shoving my face through the narrow, rectangular opening.
Darrock scrambles back and his color pales when his back hits the wall.
“You!” I roar, my grip on the bars tightening, bending. And though it sears through my flesh, I don’t let go. Not when I can get through and run my claws along his face and neck. Not when I can hear his beating heart so damn close, I itch to tear it out and drain the blood out of it. “You’re a dead man.”
He seems to find that funny, his tense limbs relaxing as he notes my difficulty in reaching him. “Violet said that to me as well. You’re a match made in hell.” The bitterness attached to each word fuels my rage and it deafens me.
When a guard comes too close, leaning over to get me away from Darrock, I catch a hold of his neck and slam his head against the bars. He goes limp, his blood spraying, but the impact has created a stretch in the iron, a stretch I can break through. Tossing his body aside, I reach for the iron and it snaps easily. Then I begin to pull at it, the metal screeching as I destroy it, and when Darrock realizes there’s no barrier enough that will keep me from killing him, he begins to yell for help.
But it’d take more than a few guards to wear me down. With the sole focus and dedication of a starving man presented with a feast, I begin tearing off each bar.
Darrock now presses himself against the wall, the smell of his fear awfully delicious, and then, he begins to ramble. “I had to! For Raya! And you’re way worse than I am, leaving your mate in the hands of the enemy for so long. He poisoned her every day, until she gave in. That…that is why I fell for her. I’ve never met anyone with a stronger will to live. Or the strength.” His lips curve into a cruel smile. “She’s fucking him now, to stay alive, and I suppose it check out, seeing as he provides her with everything she needs, which is more than anything you’ve ever done for her.”
I do falter. Every thought leaving my mind at the image Darrock plants there. Too vivid. I see her creamy thighs parted for him. I see his lips locked with hers as he pounds into her. I hear the sounds she makes, sounds only I should know. Those sweet, breathy sighs, and the high-pitched scream she releases as she climaxes. I feel her squeeze around him as he releases in her.
My movements turn crazed, sloppy, and Darrock laughs, noting the maddening crack in the walls of my mind. The despair. And he jumps on it, whispering, “She’s four months pregnant. Do you know what means, King Kier?”
I stiffen, and the guards close in at once, having realized they had a better chance at subduing me in great numbers, but I fight, roaring as I consider it. Four months. She lied to me. It’s mine—
Darrock lowers himself to the ground and leans over by a fraction. His red eyes are amused as he tells me, “It didn’t take very long to get her in his bed.”
My hand comes free and I reach for him, ready to claw his eyes out of his head, but something sharp stabs into my neck—a needle—followed by an order, “Hold him still!” I keep reaching forward, towards Darrock, but my body is suddenly seized by a fit too violent to hold control of my senses. I am turned on my side as my body spasms, pain spreading from the needle point throughout my entire being and a soft whine escapes me as spit froths in my mouth.
The edges of my vision darken, and I barely register being lifted and carried back to the cell. But even as my eyelids grow heavier and a complete, devastating pain takes hold, I keep my fist clenched, hiding it from them—the key I swiped off my escort during the outburst.