Jessamine
I bite my bottom lip, my clenched fist hesitating in front of the door. This is stupid. This is so stupid. Goddess, why do I have to do this?
Blowing out a heavy breath, I knock twice. The doorknob twists and a small, cute face peeks out, staring at me for a few seconds before focusing.
The child blinks and pulls the door open wider as she runs out, almost toppling into me. "Y-your Highness." Her head lowers in what looks to be a bow, but she's a child and it just looks funny. Her soft brown locks tumble down, brushing against my skirts. "What...brings you here? Might you be ill?"
I laugh nervously, looking left and right on the corridor as I lean over to tickle the back of her ear. When she's giggling, I ask, "A fever. Is your father in?"
She bobs her head enthusiastically, grabs as much of my fingers as her smaller hands can hold and tugs me forward. "He's tending to a man in the inner room." She points at one of the two seats by his desk. "You may sit there. I will tell him you've come!"
The child has run off excitedly before I can respond, leaving me by myself in the large infirmary. I turn in a circle, crinkling my nose at the harsh smell of herbs and plants placed by the windows in pots, mingling with the smell of incense. Bottles after bottles of tonics and powdery substances line the glass cabinet. Stones and orbs stand at the top of a small shelf that holds parchment and books.
I sit, trying to peer past the curtain that blocks the view into the more private sections of the infirmary, but I can't see a thing and I settle for staring at the tapestry hanging off the wall.
My eyes are trailing the painted still waters when Regan enters. "Princess," he greets, in a manner of speaking as he wipes his hands with a clean cloth.
The girl appears behind him, grinning from ear to ear.
Regan's eyes soften as he glances at her. "Lou, join your mother in the kitchens." He pats her head. "It'll only be for a minute."
She looks between us, comprehension darkening her eyes. She nods and scurries out of the office.
"How do you feel?" Regan asks, his chartreuse green eyes searching mine. Lou tells me you're down with a fever. Could you--"
"I don't have a fever. I need...a tonic," I whisper, though there's no one of importance who could be eavesdropping. Heat creeps up my neck and I shift uncomfortably. "A tonic for...inducing abortions."
Regan's head snaps up. "Your sister--"
"Was asking for me," I cut in quickly, feeling even stupider with every passing second. "I'm the one who needs it. I'm with child and I haven't quite decided if I want it yet."
This is the last thing I ever do for my witch of a sister. She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve me humiliating myself to help her. She had requested my presence in her chambers, and I'd been stupid enough to stop by, because I felt guilty about Father yelling at her and punishing her.
Then she'd told me she was going to kill herself before she carried the child to term. Then she'd proceeded to bawl, ruining her make up, and I was a breath away from laughing my head off. Goddess knows I've never met anyone as dramatic in my life. Well, except me, of course.
Father just might kill me too if he finds out about this. I have a gathering with him and the Alphas in one hour to discuss my failure and our next move. I thought I'd best get this over with before that.
A loud rattle from the inside of the infirmary startles us both and the curtain is suddenly snatched aside.
Oh, Goddess. Really?!
Kier's standing against the entrance, a bandage around his wrist--how did he get wounded?--and there is not a word in the world that can explain his expression. It is a mix of fury, betrayal, and a hint of madness that doesn't entirely feel like Kier. "What did you say?"
My fingers curl in my lap, and my heart is speeding unhealthily. I feel Regan watching me from my peripheral vision. I really should have stayed in my room and ignored Nymeria. I can't take it back. I have lied and now I must own it.
Lands.
"I'm pregnant." My voice is steady, but I feel like the ground under my seat is being tugged at. Somehow, I even smile and rub my flat, empty belly very slowly.
His hazel eyes burn gold and he cocks his head at Regan. "Leave us." His words are guttural and distorted, as though speaking is a difficult feat.
"Oh no, you don't," I tell him. "You don't give orders in my home. Regan, stay--"
"Leave!" Kier roars, and Regan jerks up to his feet, rushing out the door and taking pains to avoid Kier entirely. My limbs lock, fighting the crippling urge to get out of my seat and run also.
He walks rather slowly and I can't find my words or thoughts. He must have come here straight from training because he smells like sweat and he has on a sleeveless shirt. I swallow when he grabs the arms of my seat and yank it forward.
My breath hitches and I stare up at him with wide eyes. "Do you ever listen to me? You cannot keep--"
He grunts, his fingers clasping around my shoulder. Something rips and it takes me a second to feel the wind against my almost bare chest. I start to hug myself when he grabs a fistful of my hair, winding it into a rope, and tugs down, hard, forcing me to look up into his eyes.
His nostrils flares and he breathes in deeply. His lips tighten and his grip on my hair tightens. "You don't lie to me, Jessamine. You are untouched, just as I left you. I would know if you had someone else in your bed. I would feel it, and then, I would find the bloody bastard and kill him."
My eyes burn. "You want to go on a murdering rampage over someone that isn't yours? Fine. Find Atticus's men who pushed me up against a tree, ripped my clothes and almost took me by force, because you sent me out to the wilds without a single care in the world."
Kier furrows his brow in heavy confusion, his hold on my hair faltering. "What are you talking about?"
I shake, internally and visibly. I don't like to remember. Frankly, since the incident, I have learned not to think of Farrow, or the feel of the cool air against my skin as Slyder ripped my clothes, as well as the press of him against my back.
Every time I thought of it, I had vivid dreams. In those dreams, Darrock doesn't come to save me. When I wake from it, I work and don't think. I worked until it became muscle memory. I worked until nothing else mattered. It's the only way you forget that you were about to be defiled. It's the only way you forget that you would have been passed from one man to the other if no one came to your rescue.
Kier doesn't understand. Father doesn't understand either. Everything could've gone wrong. All because I chose to love a man and pursue him. Perhaps, this is why mothers tell their daughters to play hard to get. To play the waiting game. That way, they'd have more value and dignity in the eyes of men.
My life could've been ruined and I'd be in Atticus's encampments, being ripped to shreds by his men. Everyone knows what happens to women captured in the opposing armies. They would have held me captive, because they thought I mattered to Kier.
And they would have sent him a message and he would not have come for me. He would have chosen his honour. His throne. His people. His castle. His Moira. But not Jessamine. Not his mate. I'm easily dispensable.
"You sent me out," I cry, hating the burn on my throat and the tears blurring my vision. "You stamped the order in your blood and you couldn't even deliver it to me yourself. You pushed me out and ignored me like I meant nothing. They heard of my banishment. They were waiting. They were going to take me to Atticus to have leverage over you. They called me your whore. They were going to rape me!"
For a while, he says nothing. His expression shutting down completely. His confusion morphs into rage. The gold in his eyes suddenly seems to burn brighter and his hands slide up to cup my neck, thumbs stroking under my ears. He lowers his forehead to mine, breathing hard. "I had no idea," he whispers, fear catching his voice. "I--I--I didn't...Jessamine. I didn't know. Gods, I'm sorry I wasn't...I wasn't there--"
"It doesn't matter--"
"I'll find them," he whispers, kissing the tear I hadn’t noticed from my cheek. I recoil from the familiar heat of his mouth, but he grips me tighter, a choked sound escaping him. “Jess,” he whispers, and his voice isn’t entirely his. “I’ll kill them.” It’s a promise. One I don’t want or need.
"You're two months too late.” It doesn’t matter how hard I try to numb myself to the hurt. It doesn’t stop. I steel my spine and will, pulling back as far as he’ll let me. Far from his cruelly beautiful mouth. “Darrock saved my life. He's shown up for me more times than you ever have. He's offering me more than you ever will. And I will take his hand, because I am no fool."
His rage banks, dark, long lashes blinking those emotions away. “You do not love him. You do this to hurt me.”
“The world doesn’t revolve around you,” I mutter, my gaze dropping to the table. “And I do love Darrock.” The lies are easier when I’m not looking in his eyes.
His thumb bites into my skin. “You love me. Me,” he growls. “Look at me and say that you don’t. I’ll believe you then. And I swear to the Goddess that I’ll leave you be.”
My heart thuds dully in my chest. Words are just that. Words. Our eyes meet and I tell him that I don’t love. I tell him all I feel for him is rage, hate and pain.
Or, I try to. He knows me. He knows I’ll lie to him. So, he doesn’t let me. His fingers slide around my throat, closing my vocal cords and blocking my airflow. He squeezes and his fingers shake, just a little bit. It doesn’t hurt. How could it when he’s lowering his lips to mine, catching my bottom lip between his teeth?
Oh, my Goddess—
My hand rises to his chest to shove him off, but it flattens instead, almost unconsciously, letting the warmth of him seep up through my palm. I hadn’t realized how cold I’d become. How warm he was. How perfect he felt.
And he’s kissing me like he never has before. It is life. It is a revival. Mine. It is a reunion, a rediscovery. It is a tempest, a rage of emotions unleashed. It is war. It is violent. It is a storm. A bittersweet echo, a memory rewritten, rewoven into every living cell of my body. It is a bridge rebuilt, broken, mended and torn down again. It is a rekindling. I am an ember. I am floating. I am dying. I am soaring. I am falling.
I’m forgetting everything. My brain is ash, and I am liquid flame, fanned into existence by breath he instils into me. His hands are cradling my head, his mouth grounding against mine, his tongue stroking and lashing at mine. I taste my own blood and his. I don’t care. I don’t remember why I should. I can’t get close enough.
“You love me,” he hisses and his hands rasp down my neck, pulling at my bodice. “There will only ever be me.”
No, I want to say in turn, but I am addicted to the druggy spices he tastes of. Speaking requires that I part from him. I don’t need to speak. I need nothing but his electric touch, the primitive, intimate things only he can do to me. I am heat. I am need. I am agony.
I am out of the chair, my back pressed against the cabinet. My legs…I don’t know or care where they’re hanging from, so long he’s standing between them. I’ve gone mad. I have claws and canines. They are in his skin. There’s blood on my hands. He growls. I purr and snarl, hurting him. He likes it. I like it too. I’m an animal without a conscience. He’s my predator and prey. He hardens and rocks his hips against mine, raising my skirts higher, even as he anchors me against the cabinet.
He makes a strangle sound when my tongue slides over my mark on his neck. Glass shatters somewhere near my spine. The cabinet shudders. I sway. He’s lifting me, and I don’t know where he’s taking me.
My back hits something soft. It smells like herbs and sweat. Bed. He traps me beneath him in a smooth graceful roll, catching my arms when I reach for his waistband and he stretches them above my head. He stares at me, his eyes impossibly golden, and I know it isn’t just Kier I’m staring at. His wolf has come out to play.
I grind my hips up involuntarily. His eyes close, a soft moan choking him. “Jess. Mine,” he mutters both words together and I wonder if I was given my name only for this moment. “Fuck.”
He is restraining himself. And me.
Something gnaws at my subconscious when a muscle works in his jaw. His eyes glitter when he opens them. I arch up against him and he growls, dropping his face in my neck. He licks me, his fingers crushing mine into the mattress. “Fuck it.”
He frees my hands and I reach for his pants again, shoving my hands into them. He stiffens, air hissing between clenched teeth. His hands push past my skirts, clawing at my bare skin as he attempts to rip my panties off. My hands clasp around him in the same moment he succeeds in ridding me of it and I gasp, feeling his silky length for the first time. Or any man’s. Perhaps, my hands are too small to properly grasp him. I can’t comprehend how any woman can take such a thing into her. It is monstrous.
I feel fear, and it gives way to thoughts. Other thoughts. Too many things suddenly flood my brain, and like a thunderclap, my sense of reason strikes me hard.
I blink and look around me for the first time since he kissed me. I look at myself. My corset is torn. My gown is no longer a gown. It’s been ripped to rags. Kier’s shirt is in much worse condition and he’s covered in scratches and cuts. All over. Blood stains his skin and hair. I don’t remember touching his hair.
“Jess, please,” he says, his tongue lapping on my pulse point. My eyes shutter.
“Leave me alone,” I breathe, fighting it. Her.
“Over my dead body,” he replies gruffly. “You have my cock in your hands.”
I snatch my hands back and he grunts his displeasure, catching my right wrist and guiding it back there. He presses his mouth to mine again before I can protest and slides his fingers through mine gently, assisting me with wrapping my hands around him.
I’m suddenly angry. It burns and rages against the lust and I squeeze him too tightly. He jerks up, trying to pull back from me, but I will not allow it. He’s so hard, I can feel his bones. Every outline of it. I could crush it. I should crush it. I twist it and his eyes bulge, veins popping everywhere on his face. “Let go!” He yells at me in a strange voice that seems to echo in several places in my brain.
He’s pulled an aura on me. I obey him without hesitating, only to yank my knee up to his center, hard and fast. His roar shakes the room as he rolls off me.
I run from him then, pulling the sheet around me to hug myself, and I don’t stop until I’m in my room.
“There you are. Good morning, Violet,” I hear Darrock say, and I stiffen at the sight of him by my couch, holding the prettiest bouquet of flowers with an off-guarded smile that brightens his red eyes. But it soon falters when he really sees me leaning back against the door, my hair disheveled, my lips swollen and cut from kissing, my dress ripped, my scent addled with arousal and Kier.
He stands very stiffly, and the flowers fall from his hands. He crushes the petals underneath his boots as he walks over to where I stand. “D-Darrock,” I stutter breathlessly. “I didn’t—we didn’t—”
He pushes me aside in a light shove and leaves without another word.