Ella
Music thrums through the air, sending steady vibrations over every surface in the crowded, cozy bar. For being such an old dive, it’s always busy, and always full of a young crowd.
A mix of lively pop and sensual, drumming house music plays on a loop. The lights are dimmed, and all around us people dance and sway to the music.
It’s unlike any tavern or pub Ryatt’s ever been to, I’m sure.
He looks skeptical as I clutch his hand and wade through the crowd to the bar.
I order three drinks. A sparkling water for me, of course.
“These are my favorite,” I tell him as I whirl around holding two identical mixed drinks. I thrust them into his hands. He lifts one and sniffs, then grimaces.
“What is it?”
“It’s called Sex on the Beach,” I purr, giving his arm a little nudge as I bring my water to my lips.
“Why am I holding two drinks?”
“Because you’re drinking for two tonight, since I can’t.”
Another scowl. He takes a careful sip and narrows his eyes at me. “This doesn’t taste like whiskey.”
“I don’t think the whiskey here tastes like the whiskey you’re used to. The foul stuff back in Eastonia would blind most people here.”
He smiles around the rim of the glass before knocking one of the drinks back in one fluid motion.
He makes a face, his jaw flexing. “This is awful.”
“Too bad. Poppy made me promise I’d get you drunk tonight so you’d loosen up a little.” I look around, my body already reacting to the music and livery. A new song starts to play–something dark and full of drums. An EDM beat weaves itself through the music, and a deep, rasping female voice thrums through the air. It’s a siren song. It sounds both new, and ancient, and my heart begins to beat faster and harder as my hips start to sway.
Ryatt reluctantly starts sipping on the second drink. I notice him looking out over the crowd, his eyes alight as he scans the bar for threats.
“We’re safe,” I tell him, resting my hand on his forearm. “No one even knows us here.”
He says nothing as he nurses the second cocktail.
Sighing, I sip from my water and wonder what exactly I meant to accomplish by bringing him here.
A man bumps into Ryatt. Ryatt goes rigid, his teeth bared in a snarl at the group of young, college aged guys trying to make their way toward the bar.
“Sorry, man,” one of them says. “Woah, that’s a gnarly tattoo on your neck. Who did it? Cashton, down at Inked Up?”
“Who–Yeah,” Ryatt says slowly, his eyes flicking down to meet mine. “Sure.”
“Damn! I love his work. Shit–” The guy nudges his friend, who turns from the bar and sizes up Ryatt. “Got any more? I’m thinking about having him finish my sleeve.”
“If you’re going to ask him to take his shirt off,” I cut in, staring up at the group of men now encircling us, “you could at least buy him a drink first.”
Ryatt gives me a look, but the other guys howl with laughter, and then I lose my mate to a sea of men wanting to know about his scars and tattoos.
A few minutes later, I’m watching Ryatt with interest. He’s drinking whiskey now, some color staining his cheeks as he talks with guys who have no idea that Ryatt is making up stories about how he got his scars. I’m sure some of the stories are true, especially the one about him and Granger starting a full on brawl at a pub, and Ryatt getting thrown through a glass window, but he’s careful not to mention Eastonia, or his powers, or the truth behind some of the silvery lines that run down his forearms, collarbones, and over his face.
I feel myself slipping away from him after a while, the music pulling me toward the swaying crowd of dancers.
The last thing I see before being swallowed by the crowd is Ryatt’s lips parted in a laugh, his head thrown back and his arms crossed over his chest. His shoulders are loose, and the whiskey in his hand is empty.
He’s happy.
And maybe a little drunk, but mostly happy.
Mission accomplished.
I exhale deeply, closing my eyes and losing myself to the music. Each note echoes through my mind, sending me deeper into a state of numbness that banishes the anxiety and grief that has been clouding my senses for days.
Drum beats ignite my powers. I feel the energy coming alive beneath my skin, coiling through the veins as I lift my arms over my head and sway my hips. Nameless, faceless bodies grind to the music around me.
I let it all go. The memories of war and death. The feelings of heartbreak over what we’ve been through. The loss, and confusion, and the uncertainty of the future. Whatever happens…Whatever we walk into when we get back to Eastonia… I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.
We can build the future we want.
We have a clean slate.
I run my hands over my breasts, my hips, my skin beginning to heat. I open my eyes and spot Ryatt leaning against the bar, watching every move I make. People chatter all around him, to him, but his eyes are locked on me, on my hands, on the way I run my fingers through my hair and lock my gaze with his again.
His finger circles over the rim of his fresh whiskey glass once, twice, and then he’s stalking toward me, a predatory gleam in his eyes.
My breath catches when his hands clutch my waist. He pulls me in close until our bodies are touching, and there’s not a single inch of open space between us.
I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers trailing up the back of his neck and into his hair.
His mouth finds mine in a tender kiss, and then we’re dancing in each other’s arms.
We finally got our dance, after all this time.
The sky is full of stars when we eventually, finally, hobble out to the car. Ryatt has a smirk on his face as he slouches in the passenger seat. I look over and see him as the man he was when I met him for the first time at my brother’s ball for Isaac’s twenty-first birthday. The same night he’d asked me to dance, and I’d teased him instead, baiting him for his last name.
Little did I know I’d be driving my mate, drunk on whiskey, back to the castle in Maatua to tuck him into bed.
“The whiskey here is so much better,” he laughs, leaning forward to turn up the radio.
“How much did you drink?”
“I dunno,” he says, waving a hand in dismissal.
I glance at him, smirking. He closes his eyes, tapping his fingers on the arm rest to the music.
“You like this music, don’t you?” Who would’ve thought Ryatt, the Shadow King of Eastonia, would be a club rat.
He rolls his eyes to me and gives me a sleepy smile. “I finally got to dance with you. I hope I remember it in the morning.”
I grin at him. “We’ll have years to dance again. When we get back to Veiled Valley, we can throw a huge party. A ball.”
His smile fades, and I immediately regret my words, but then he says, “When it’s all said and done, when the packs are secure and my borders drawn, I’ll throw you a ball, and I’ll dance with you until daybreak.”
My heart squeezes hard in my chest.
“I promise, Princess.”
My eyes water. I reach over and grip his hand, squeezing. “I know.”
The castle comes into view. We drive through a private gate and up a long, winding driveway. It’s the middle of the night. Poppy, who is alone in the castle besides the guards and servants, likely went to bed hours ago.
I park the car and unbuckle my seat belt, but Ryatt lingers.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” he asks, looking up at the castle, his hair trembling in the ocean breeze.
“I’m going with you, Ryatt. I told you–”
“I can’t give you this,” he says, his voice dropping. “I can’t give you… I can’t take you out like this, Ella. We can’t dance at bars and go–go driving around. You will be hunted. Your power will always be hunted. You’ll be a target just by being by my side. I don’t know what we’re walking into when we get back. I only know that I have a fucking mess to clean up. I have–I have to be something I swore I’d never be.”
“The Alpha King of Eastonia?”
Silence swells between us. In the distance, the rhythmic song of the waves is a gentle hum.
“Yes,” he says, meeting my eyes.
“You’re going to take the throne?”
“There’s no throne left. But if my people–if the Roguelands are to remain safe–I’m going to have to build a new throne. I have to keep the allies of King Kane in check, and that means becoming what I never wanted to be. It should be you on the throne, Princess.”
My stomach hollows out.
He looks at me, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “It will be you on the throne, one day. I’ll ensure it.”
“What if that’s not what I want?” I ask. My heart is beginning to race.
“I don’t think either of us have a choice. That’s why I’m giving you the opportunity to stay here–with your family.”
I reach over to take his hand, but he gets out of the car.
I exhale deeply as I follow him into the castle. Darkness swells around us as our footsteps echo off the tiles. My mind is a flurry of noise. I can’t form a rational thought or make a sound decision, not now. Not yet.
We reach the guest room Poppy set up for us. It’s huge and luxurious. A sweeping view of the west side of the island with its private beaches and dense tropical forest greets us as Ryatt shuts and locks the door behind us, letting out his breath.
I wring my hands, my eyes on the tide as it pulls toward the shore, when he comes up behind me, his hands sliding over my hips as he buries his face in my neck and inhales.
Another flicker of that shattered bond between us burns to life before extinguishing like an exhausted match.
I close my eyes and lean into his touch, ignoring the throbbing ache in my heart and the tangled thoughts in my head. I understand his rationale when it comes to my staying behind. He doesn’t know what we’re going home to. And I’m pregnant. Our child will be born into what sounds like civil war and unrest.
But we have to start somewhere, don’t we? We defeated Kane.
That should count for something.
“I need you,” I whisper as his lips graze down my neck. “Please, Ryatt.”
He lets out his breath, his teeth lighting over my shoulder.
If he marks me again, will the bond snap back into place, or is it broken beyond repair?
His touch becomes more demanding, the whiskey in his system loosening that iron tipped restraint that has been plaguing him for days. I feel myself letting go as well, his touch thawing the numbness in my heart.
“Mark me, Ryatt,” I whisper, then suck in a breath as his teeth gently bite down on my shoulder, and he herds me toward the bed in the center of the room.