Ryatt
Granger glances to the window at the passing crowd. Even in the rain, and at this extremely late hour, people are busy hanging lanterns and decorating shop fronts. I stare down into my whiskey, lost in thought. Ella is up at the castle with Hannah. I didn’t need to stay for Ravenna’s history lesson. I knew all of this already. I didn’t have the stomach for it, especially if she went into detail about my mother.
“What exactly is happening tomorrow night?” Granger asks from across the table. Thorne sits by his side, drinking his second pint of dark beer.
“The Cleansing. It’s an old ceremony.”
“Well, that clears it up,” Thorne says sarcastically then lifts a hand to motion to a passing bar maid to bring him another beer.
I narrow my eyes at him, ready to light into him for drinking so much, but then I remember we’ve been on the road for months now, and none of my men have had a break. I sigh heavily and raise my drink to my lips. “It’s a ceremony to bring back the moon. It’s been done since the witches walked with the gods, apparently. They light bonfires and dance, say their prayers to the Goddess, and then…”
“They fuck, don’t they,” Thorne asks in a low tone.
Granger smacks him soundly on the back of the head. I can’t help but chuckle at his expense.
“He’s not wrong,” I tell Granger. Granger looks momentarily disgusted, but I go on, “It’s not a… group thing, not like you’re thinking. The Cleansing is an ancient ritual about ushering in a new era of magic. It’s about plentifulness, power, and fertility.”
“Like the spring festivals in shifter culture,” Granger adds to a very curious looking Thorne, who has his chin resting on his fist as he glances between us.
I lean back in my chair. “Exactly. But instead of Moon Balls and mating ceremonies, the witches do this every ten years or so, whenever there’s a lunar eclipse. The infants conceived on this night are considered sacred and blessed.”
“Can shifters participate?” Thorne asks.
Granger shoots him a look, but I only shrug. “I’m sure you won’t be excluded. Whether or not anyone wants to sleep with you is the question.”
Thorne scowls, but Granger’s mouth twitches into an uncharacteristic smile.
“Have you ever participated?” Thorne asks after a moment.
“No, I was far too young during the last eclipse.” My mouth dries out as a sudden memory comes fluttering back to the forefront of my mind. “Every eclipse, a man and woman are chosen to perform something called the Rite, which takes place in a cave on the far side of the lake. There’s a procession; the coven follows them at the beginning of the eclipse, lighting their way to the cave. They are meant to… conceive a child. It's preplanned, predestined, some say. I’m not sure how Ravenna’s mystic’s choose the couple, but if a child is produced, it’s supposed to usher in an era of power and luck to the coven. Otherwise, the rest of the night is just a huge party.”
“Who was chosen this year?” Granger eyes me, noticing the shift in my expression.
I look up from my drink and meet his gaze. I don’t need to say it. He knows or can sense it.
When I’d gone to speak with Ravenna when I first arrived, when I’d left Ella in the little house by the lake, Ravenna had reminded me of something I’d forgotten about in the five years since I left this place to rule as Alpha over the Rogues.
Petra and I had been destined for the Rite by her Mystics, those few witches that possessed the power of sight and knowledge of the universe.
How is it that I’d arrived back in the coven just in time for this event?
I told Ravenna it didn’t matter. Petra and I would not be doing the Rite. I would not, under any circumstances, do something like that while my mate walked the earth. My mate, who I was too young to know about when the mystics decided my fate.
“Nothing has been announced,” I tell them, lying through my teeth even though Granger has a hunch it’s me without me having to say it out loud. “Maybe it’ll be you, Thorne.”
Thorne blushes. “I dunno… I kinda like the idea of drinking witch wine and finding a nice lady to spend the night with the old fashioned way instead of being paraded naked into a cave.”
I don’t stop the laugh from leaving my throat. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in a while, and despite knowing Ella has likely just learned the full truth, a truth I struggled to put into words and tell her myself, I know she’s safe, and her friend Hannah is alive, and lucid, and maybe, just maybe, that’ll give Ella the same relief I feel.
An hour later, the rainy streets are finally empty, and the sky is just starting to lighten. The first signs of morning drift through the heavy rain clouds as I walk through the city toward the lake, toward the cottage nestled in the trees.
It’s my mother’s old house. The house where I was raised by the witches who tended to me. This coven raised me as a collective, turned me into who I am now.
I don’t know if that’s a good thing.
Ella is nestled safely at the castle. I know Ravenna would have offered her a room. But as I step inside and close the door behind me I pause, scanning the lower floor. I slowly shrug off my jacket and step into the center of the snug foyer.
I’m not alone.
A crash from upstairs has me sprinting up the steps and tearing into the only bedroom, the same bedroom where Ella had been sleeping when a messenger from the castle came to tell me Hannah had woken up.
The door is wide open, and my breath is stolen from my lungs as the smell of blood clings to the air mingled with Ella’s scent.
Something clatters to the ground in the bathroom where the door is slightly ajar, golden light spilling into the otherwise darkened bedroom.
I push open the door and suck in a breath at the sight of her.
“Y-you should see the other guy,” Ella stammers, her words slightly slurred from a bruised and swollen lower lip.
She’s leaning all of her weight on the counter, her hands covered in blood, her nails broken as she lets cold water run over her swollen fingers. For a moment, I think I’m dreaming this up, but the smell of blood, and her torn dress and scratched arms and shoulders peppered with red bruises is too real.
“Who did this to you?” I growl, teeth bared.
She meets my gaze in her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes are red but tearless, and her gaze is absolutely murderous. “I got tired of being a sniveling, helpless, damsel in distress.”
“Ella–”
She pushes past me into the bedroom, wringing her hands on a white towel now stained crimson from blood I’m not sure is totally her own. Her dress is hanging off her shoulders, her belly totally exposed from a rip in the fabric that stretches to either side of her body. I catch a glimpse of the fine muscles of her abdomen as she opens the closet door and pulls several items from their hangers, tossing them on the floor.
“You walked all the way here like this? In the rain?”
“Yes.”
“Who did this to you?” I ask again.
She whirls on me, throwing one of the hangers directly at my face. I catch it and toss it across the room before stalking toward her and caging her in against the wall next to the window.
“Who,” I growl, clutching her arms, “did this to you?”
“Petra and her cronies,” she hisses then smirks. “They won’t mess with me again.”
Something like pride flares in my chest as I look into her eyes, which are stone cold and determined, shining like precious, polished gems. I release one of her arms and caress her cheek, swiping my thumb as gently as possible over her swollen lower lip. It’s not split, thankfully. In fact, she’s whole, other than her nails. “Did you scratch their eyes out, princess?”
“I tried,” she admits, closing her eyes as my fingers travel down her neck. “I was trained as a warrior, you know. They didn’t know that.”
I nod, my eyes still on her face as she relaxes into my touch. I lean in impulsively, unable to stop myself from closing the distance between us. “You blocked me out,” I say against her hair. “I didn’t know it happened.”
“I didn’t want you to come rescue me.”
The words should have stung, but something in her tone makes the air in the room shift. This is the Ella I know. Defiant, headstrong, powerful, and brave. The Ella no one dares to mess with. The Ella who trusts few and fights for those she loves even against impossible odds. The Ella I met at the ball all those years ago who gave me endless hell during the fifteen minutes we had together.
Our bond hums between us, pulling tight. “You know the truth now,” I say to her in a low whisper.
She swallows, her eyes still closed, but her hands graze up my stomach to my chest and rest there. “Why didn’t you want me to know who I really was?”
“My mother was a breeder, Ella. He wants you…” I can’t finish the sentence.
Her fingers curl into my rain damp shirt as her eyes open slowly, meeting mine. “You’ve been using your powers to keep me hidden on top of keeping your kingdom safe from your father all this time, and it’s killing you.”
“It’s not killing me–”
“But you’re weakening, right? And you were so upset with me when we arrived because–because this place was your home once, your mother’s home, and you lost her–”
I crush a kiss to her lips, stealing the words. She sucks in a breath and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me into her, her breath leaving her throat in a lifted moan that sends tremors of heated longing coursing over my skin.
But she’s hurt.
I pull away, shaking my head. She tries to pull me back, but I pick her up, her tarnished dress sliding from her shoulders and falling around her waist, exposing her full breasts to the chilled air.
I groan, pressing my face into the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent. Everything that I am–wolf, and son of a Firestone Witch–screams in protest when I lay her on the bed, pull off the rest of the torn fabric that is barely enough to keep her covered, and step away.
Naked, save for a pair of white, lacey underwear, she looks up at me expectedly.
“You’re injured,” I whisper, trying to keep my eyes locked on hers and not let them travel down the length of her body.
She’s panting, her eyes wild as she shakes her head. To my absolute dismay, and my wolf's utter delight, she spreads her legs.
“Ella,” I rasp. I barely have a handle on the bond driving us together right now, the thing that’s driving us both to act like this.
“I can’t pretend I don’t want this any longer,” she says.
In a single second, I’ve lost control entirely.
Chapter 283: How You Taste
*Ella*
I hadn’t planned on beating up three witches today. It wasn’t on my schedule at all. Putting Petra into a headlock and dragging her to the cold crystal floor hadn’t been on the itinerary, nor had swinging her friend into the wall by the woman’s auburn hair, or using her other friend's cloak as a weapon I then strangled the third witch with.
I didn’t kill any of them, but I wanted to. I’d scratched and bit and punched with all of my physical might until all three women were panting, gagging, and choking for both breath and mercy. Then, I’d simply stepped over them and walked out of the castle and into the rain.
Petra hadn’t had any idea what she’d been getting into when she cornered me and raked her iron-tipped fingernails over my cheek. She has no idea I’d been trained as a warrior since the day I turned five years old, that I’d let grown men with decades of experience throw me around the sparring ring in the castle until my skin was bruised and covered in welts. She has no idea that I’d grown up tough as nails. She has no idea who Cassian is, or who Isaac is, or who the commanders and warriors who work for my father are.
And as I drove my fist into her jaw, knocking her out cold, I silently said all of their names in thanks.
I’d let my guilt and remorse for being the reason this war had happened over the summer surge forward, letting those emotions guide my fists, my teeth, and eventually, my claws. I didn’t even feel one of the witch's fists meet my mouth. I didn’t feel the way my teeth pierced the inside of my lower lip.
I felt nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing but the bliss of an empty, calm mind.
And like Ryatt said, I’d blocked him out. I’d curled the silver threat that snaked its way through my mind, tying me to him, around my fingers and yanked it out with each blow to the witches who’d assaulted me. I refused to let him feel my pain. I refused to let him see into my head and the tidal wave of crushing, twisting thoughts I’d spent years–twenty-one years, to be exact–trying to hide.
But I let him see them now. I let him back into my head, into my heart, and let our bond reignite under the pale, early morning moonlight drifting through the window. He kneels on the edge of the bed, totally still, unblinking, as my memories wash over him. Memories of me putting every ounce of my energy into physical training from a very young age to keep my powers tamped down and controlled. Memories of me painting in my studio while my parents whispered from the doorway about how this must be my power because I hadn’t shown any hints of power yet as I came into adolescence.
Memories of me on Maatua, dunking my head under the waterfall and listening to the whispered voices only I could hear.
Memories upon memories, years upon years.
Ryatt leans forward as the first memory of me finding out my tears hold power comes rushing forward. I let it travel through my head, every detail forged in total clarity. My tears bring my paintings to life, opening doorways all over my realm. I could move between Maatua and Crescent Falls by stepping through a painting in a matter of seconds.
But I could never get to him.
A tear slides down my cheek as a memory of me placing both hands on a blacked-out canvas breaks through the other images. I’m screaming, my palms flat on the painting. Let me in, let me in, let me in!
In this moment, Ryatt sees everything. He sees my nightmares. He sees my lies. He sees how I’ve hurt and manipulated the people I love to keep my powers a secret. He sees my pain, regret, and most of all, my longing for him.
I bared myself to him when he laid me in bed and pulled off what remained of my dress. I spread my legs and offered him my body, knowing it’s what we both want but for the wrong reasons.
Now, I bare my soul to him. I let him see me for who and what I am, so he can decide if I’m worth fighting for after all.
My cheeks are wet from my silent tears when Ryatt chokes out a breath, one of his hands closing around my ankle.
I snap my legs together and try to draw my knees into my belly, suddenly full of regret.
“Ella–”
“Just leave.” I turn my face from him, hiding it in the pillow.
The bed squeaks as he crawls onto the mattress, and suddenly the moonlight is obstructed, and I’m cast in his shadow as he hovers over me. I try to shove him off, but he pins my wrists above my head and kisses me.
It’s not the kind of kiss I’m expecting. It’s not rushed or desperate. There’s nothing hurried about it. It’s not the kind of kiss I deserve.
When I try to pull away again and turn from him, he only deepens the kiss, letting go of my wrists to hold my face between his hands as his tongue glides over my lower lip, begging me to open up to him.
“Ryatt,” I say against his lips, the word choked with emotion. “I don’t–we don’t–”
He pulls away enough to wipe away my tears with his thumbs and says, “I see you, Ella. I’ve always seen you.”
My heart is in my throat when he kisses me again, deeper this time. Deep enough to send a sensation of pure heat drifting over my belly and settling between my legs. I cry out against his lips when his hips grind over mine, his desire for me making itself known.
“This is just the mate bond,” I say quietly.
He halts mid-kiss, and pulls away. “What if it’s not?”
I sit up, and he leans back so we’re sitting face to face.
I really look at him as if for the first time. His eyes are like liquid silver in the moonlight, fanned by thick, dark lashes. His dark hair is free and falling in loose curls around his shoulders as he reaches to take me by the chin. “What if it’s not just the bond, Ella?” he repeats, his eyes locked on mine.
“You don’t like me. You told me once you wished it had been anyone but me, and I get it. You saw who I am–”
“I saw someone like me, Princess,” he rasps, his tone heavy and full of regret.
I fight to swallow past the lump in my throat. This is too much. The weight of our situation is far too heavy for me to carry.
Maybe he notices the grief and desperation in my eyes because the corners of his lips tug into a smirk dripping with pride. “You really did a number on those witches tonight.”
“Are you going to be in trouble for that?”
“Me?” he laughs. He straightens, still straddling me. “I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who beat three of the Witch Queens best witches to a pulp without even touching your powers.”
I frown at him, but his boyish, teasing words lighten the mood significantly.
“I would have paid good money to have seen it in person,” he says in a low growl, his teeth bared.
“Next time,” I say, but my words cause a shift in his expression. Ryatt’s eyes shimmer, then fade to dark, stormy gray.
“I didn’t want this life for you. Being hunted just for being by my side. I tried, Ella, to prevent this from happening. I sided with my father to invade your kingdom knowing I’d have the opportunity to face your brother in battle. I planned to die on that field by his hand. You’re useless to my father without me.”
“I don’t understand why that is.”
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t let him have you.”
Ryatt is holding something back, a truth he doesn’t want me to know. Maybe I’m better off not knowing or understanding the grisly details of why I’m here, why he’s my mate, and whatever destiny we’re meant to follow.
Until a cold breeze drifts over my skin, I forgot I’m lying here practically naked in front of him. My nipples peak from the chill, and I suck in a breath to bite back the shiver rippling over my skin.
Ryatt, who has been nothing but a gentleman, has not looked down at my naked body until now. He leans forward, his hands curled into fists on the mattress, and groans.
His eyes are closed. “You should go to bed. It’s been a long night.” He starts to pull away, but I stop him, grabbing his arm.
“Stay.”
His eyes meet mine.
“Stay with me, please.”
“I don’t trust myself to be in the same room, let alone the same bed, with you right now.” His words are strained.
“I want this,” I admit. “You asked me if… you asked what if this isn’t just the mate bond? I–I think it’s more than that, Ryatt. I want you, and that goes beyond our bond. I’ve always wanted–”
His mouth crushes mine, and I’m thrown back against the pillows, defenseless against his weight and strength. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer, digging my fingernails into his skin.
Our teeth clash, our tongues lost in a desperate, frantic dance as he explores my mouth, then pulls away to press kisses to my jaw and neck. His teeth graze my skin, and I cry out, arching into his touch, needing more. So, so much more.
I know our bond is the reason we can’t stop now. The tension between us has been coiling tight since the moment he found me in that cellar. My entire body screams for his touch, and I’m in no place to stop it.
No force has ever been so strong as what has been destined between us. I can’t fight it. I don’t want to. I’ve never wanted anything more.
His hands caress my breasts, and he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. “Ryatt!” I pant, finding it hard to catch my breath as his teeth gently nip at that sensitive bud. Heat washes over my body and settles between my thighs as his touch travels further down, his lips brushing over my belly as his hands grip my hips.
I feel him slide my panties down over my thighs, and then I’m totally and wholly at his mercy.
His lips brush just below my navel. I close my eyes, letting myself drift, but then the cold night air touches my skin again as he gets off the bed.
I open my eyes to find him standing at the foot of the bed looking down at me. The look in his eyes is absolutely feral with desire as he grips my ankles and yanks me toward the edge of the bed.
I rise up on my elbows, my hair ruffled and falling over my shoulders and breasts. “Ryatt–”
Ryatt Kane, the Alpha King of the Rogues, gets on his knees before me.
His hands rest on my thighs as he says, “I’ve been dying to know how you taste.”